Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (39 page)

Feb. 3, 1842. Saw them together again in back of her modiste's shop. Markham waits for her at the rear entry. What I would not give to kiss her and pull the pins from that mass of raven hair. Just watching them made me quiver with passion. Her, the fancy lady, too good for a common ranch hand, but not too good to commit adultery, if the man in question is a fancy English dandy! Oh, Sina, my beautiful Sina.

      
Charlee's fingers were nerveless by now as she turned the pages. The whole sordid relationship between Tomasina Carver and Ashley Markham was chronicled in her brother's crabbed, hard-to-read handwriting, seen through his jealous eyes. It seemed to her that Richard Lee became obsessed with the trysting couple, even going so far as to follow Markham. He was suspicious of the Englishman's motives for carrying on an affair with a prominent rancher's wife. Also, Markham lived well and dressed to the nines, lost at cards more than he won, yet always seemed to have money. Money—or the lack of it—had become her brother's fixation, leading him to his death when he followed Markham to the Carver ranch one morning.

      
In horrified fascination, Charlee read Richard Lee's detailed account of how Ashley Markham and Tomasina Carver murdered old Jake and then made it appear to be a riding accident. Recalling her own surprise about the close succession of Carver's and Richard Lee's deaths, she remembered that she had at first blamed Slade.

      
Now, a cold, killing dread infused her soul as she continued reading, even though her intuition told her what would happen next. Richard Lee went to Tomasina Carver and blackmailed her, threatening to expose her as an adulteress and murderess if she did not pay him. After all, if she could support her English lover so well, she could certainly spare a modest sum for him to ensure his silence on such a delicate issue!

      
The last entry had been written the day Richard Lee died. He was to meet Ashley Markham at the pool on Bluebonnet land to receive his money from Tomasina. But instead he drowned, another convenient little accident. Just like Jake Carver, who must have found out about Markham and Tomasina’s affair. Charlee let the book drop to the floor as waves of nausea swept over her, followed by a fierce trembling. They had killed him, that spy who could well be stalking her Jim right now, and that bitch, that murdering, conniving, cold-blooded bitch!

      
If Slade dealt with Markham, she could damn well take care of Tomasina Carver herself! Jumping up, she looked over to the big glass case against the far wall of the study, the gun case. Resolutely, she went over and opened it. Jim and Lee had taken the best of the long arms and several handguns, but a .51-caliber single-shot Derringer remained. It was small enough to conceal, yet quite lethal at close range. She could easily smuggle it inside the Carver house and pull it neatly on the murderess. She'd make Tomasina Carver sorry for the day she had first laid eyes on Richard Lee McAllister. Tomasina would be even sorrier that his sister had followed him to Texas!

* * * *

      
San Antonio was ominously still, mourning for the Texians who had been killed defending the city during the attempt to retake it. Many were fearful for the prisoners carried off with the retreating army of General Woll. It had taken nearly two years for the sad remnants of the earlier Santa Fe Expedition to be returned from Perote Prison north of Mexico City. They had told tales of horror—of starvation, filth, and disease. What would befall those now being led to confront Santa Anna's wrath?

      
Charlee was too preoccupied with her own loss, her own sense of righteous anger at Tomasina Carver to take note of the chilly tension pervading the usually fiesta-minded city. She rode past silent
Tejano
children whose liquid brown eyes reflected sorrow over events they could only dimly understand. The shops and homes of those who had fled with the army were standing open in mute testimony to the hysteria that still gripped San Antonio. Charlee thought fleetingly of Deborah and Adam, but assured herself that if Rafe Fleming was half as fearsome as he looked, he would be well able to see to his family's safety.

      
Before she knew it, she had arrived in front of Tomasina's town house. Deciding she might be denied entry, she turned Patchwork to the rear, where she hoped the garden gate would be open. The gate was locked, so she was forced to climb the wall, which proved a bit more arduous than it might have been had she taken time to change from her female clothes. After several tries, she succeeded in boosting herself onto the top of the wide, high adobe wall, using Patchwork's back as a ladder. Dropping to the ground with a resounding thunk, she looked about to see if she had been discovered.

      
No one was in sight as she peered through the thick green leaves of a fig tree, looking toward the house. After checking her gun once more, she stealthily crept toward the large stucco structure. When she reached the side door, she slipped the weapon into a deep side pocket, hidden in the voluminous folds of her skirt.

      
She had to use both hands to turn the latch. The door creaked open. No one was in the hall as she made her way toward the front of the house and the sound of voices. One of the voices was Tomasina's, raised in strident complaint to a maid. She spoke in rapid Spanish which Charlee could understand only partially. It didn't matter. Tomasina seemed to be alone except for a few servants.

      
Positioning herself behind the heavy pine doors, she waited until the maid slipped out of the room. Tomasina stood by a wide window overlooking part of the garden. She wore a simple but elegant day gown of soft mauve that set off her black hair and pale complexion.

      
“Very striking gown, Mrs. Carver, but not in keeping with the last vestiges of mourning for the man you murdered.”

      
At the sound of Charlee's voice, Tomasina whirled and gasped, her eyes narrowing in shock at the last words.

      
Before she could speak, Charlee continued in a tight little voice, “Or maybe I should say two men you murdered, but I guess you'd scarcely consider mourning for my brother.”

      
Tomasina looked around quickly, reassured that no one was with the dangerous chit. No one had overheard her startling accusations. Edging toward her writing table, she smiled archly and replied, “I am afraid the only witness to the deaths you describe is Ashley Markham. And your lover”—she spat the word like an oath—“is disposing of him right now. You can prove nothing.”

      
“I have Richard Lee's diary, describing how you and Markham killed Jake Carver and made it look like his horse threw him. My brother followed your lover to the ranch that morning and saw the whole thing. Anyway, it doesn't matter, because I also have this.” She pulled the Derringer from her pocket and leveled it at Tomasina. “And, lady, I can knock a squirrel out of a tree at three hundred yards!”

      
Tomasina crumpled onto the chair next to the writing desk rather like a wilted rose, then began to speak in a voice so muted and low Charlee had to walk closer to hear.

      
“My aunt insisted I marry the old fool. He was a brute who hurt me on our wedding night. I imagine Diego is not like that, is he?” She really did not seem to be asking Charlee, just musing to herself over some long debated point. “No, he would be a forceful but skilled lover, the kind to bend a woman to him through passion.

      
“I could have had him, you know, many times in the past years, long before he ever met you. But I waited for marriage, and then you came along. I will never understand men. What a fool, to take a serving girl, a
fregonzuela
, to his bed when he could have had me in only a few months.”

      
Charlee felt the sting of those insulting words, doubly so because she was unsure of Jim's true feelings. If Tomasina felt betrayed, there was no denial of the possibility that Charlee had been deceived as well. “You have an awfully high opinion of your own charms, Miss Richbitch. What happened to your devoted admirer Ashley? Did you tire of him and decide to feed him to Slade...or did he tire of you?”

      
Tomasina threw back her head, her lips curled in a sneer of contempt. “The poor besotted fool, he's off on one last mission for queen and country. He never knew I was sending him to his final reward out there with those hideous savages.
Quien sabe
, maybe he and Diego will kill one another.”

      
As Tomasina made that last cutting sally, Charlee paled for a second, although her gun did not waver. If only she were not so afraid for Jim!

      
The tiniest flicker breaking her concentration was all Tomasina waited for. Sensing the younger woman's agitation over Slade, she tried another tack, reversing Charlee's thrust at her. “You stand so assured, asking me if Ashley tired of me. What of when Diego tires of you, eh? Surely you must know he will never stoop to marry a
puerca
such as you! What will you do when he turns you out as he did Rosalie Parker?” She flung the taunt and it had the desired effect.

      
Charlee lunged for Tomasina, the gun still in her hand, forgotten in her fury. How she itched to get her fingers in that carefully coiffed black hair and rip it out in big handfuls! Suddenly, Tomasina slapped at the gun, which discharged its shot out the sala window harmlessly. Blindly, Charlee grabbed a hunk of glossy hair with her left hand and pulled it free of its pins with a brutal yank. At the same time she dropped the now useless firearm and used her right arm to block Tomasina’s raking long nails.

      
Tomasina was slightly taller and considerably heavier, but her size yielded her none of the advantage that she had anticipated. Charlee was incredibly strong and slippery, tenaciously holding onto her antagonist's hair. While her free hand gouged and punched, her small booted feet kicked wickedly. Unlike Tomasina, she was not hampered by stiff stays and heavy petticoats. She used a slim leg to sweep Tomasina's encumbered feet from beneath her, plunging them both to the floor in a writhing welter of arms and legs.

      
Charlee landed on top, but Tomasina's hands fastened on her long braid and ripped it free from its ribbon. Soon two masses of waist-length hair were flying together as the women rolled and thrashed, hiking their skirts above their thighs. Each clawed for an advantage, shrieking and cursing in Spanish and English. The writing table collapsed first, sending a tallow lamp and a profusion of papers and books clattering to the floor.

      
Somewhere in the mess another gun was hidden. As she fended Charlee off, Tomasina's free hand clawed frantically through the litter on the floor searching for the cold smooth metal grip, but not finding it.

* * * *

      
Dust-covered, with grimy beards and bleary eyes, two slim riders hunched against the hot blast of late afternoon wind as they entered San Antonio. They were unaware of the Mexican occupation and withdrawal that had taken place in their absence. They rode toward the Carver house as swiftly as their exhausted mounts allowed. Solomon Tall Chief had tracked Ashley Markham for them until the spy's destination was clear. San Antonio. Then Slade had sent the scout home to rejoin his family. Lee, however, would not be dissuaded from continuing the pursuit. Once in town, the most logical place to begin their search was with Tomasina, Markham's co-conspirator.

      
Jim dismounted from Polvo, his bloodshot eyes scanning the front of the big house. No sign of Markham, but he did not expect there would be. From the trail signs, they could be no more than an hour behind him at most. Just then a shot whistled through a side window, leaving the telltale tinkle of shattered glass in its wake.

      
Lee was on Jim's heels as they rushed toward the front door, drawing their pistols as they ran. “You watch for Tomasina. Markham's mine,” Slade shouted to his companion as he tried the door. It was locked, but a few swift, hard blows from their combined bodies splintered the wood frame and it swung ajar.

      
As they rushed down the hall and veered into the sala, Jim and Lee were stunned by the chaos that greeted them. The elegant room was a shambles. A round-eyed maid who had been watching the melee fled past them and vanished down the hall. China was smashed and furniture overturned, chairs were splintered and drapes torn from their heavy iron rods.

      
Charlee and Tomasina rolled, kicked, and cursed. Charlee emerged on top once more, methodically choking the breath from Tomasina as she straddled the gasping woman. Her skirts were hiked to mid-thigh and a blanket of tan hair spread across her shoulders.

      
As soon as he recovered his wits and saw that Markham was nowhere in sight, Slade scrambled across the debris and pried the tiny form from atop her fallen adversary, whose face was approaching the same shade as her dress. Getting Charlee to relinquish her kill was no easier than it would have been to get her cat to relinquish a mole. Jim required Lee's assistance as he raised the flailing, swearing girl and transferred her with a swish of her cotton skirts to the youth's gently restraining arms.

      
Slade then knelt and assisted a coughing, choking Tomasina to her feet. She alternately pulled the tatters of her gown together and cried piteously as she clung to him, babbling in Spanish. “Oh, James, thank God you saved me! She is insane, coming here with a gun, saying she was going to shoot me! She fired, but I jumped aside. See, see the window?” She flourished one hand toward the shattered glass, her pride and joy, imported all the way from New Orleans.

      
Charlee wrenched free of Lee's hold and lunged again at the woman Jim perversely shielded. He threw himself between the two spitting females as Lee once more restrained Charlee saying, “Easy,
chica
. Calm down.”