Heart of the Ocean (14 page)

“You’re at Ruth’s home,” her father said. “You’ve had an
accident.”

Then it came flooding back to her—Gus, the journal, the
attack. She closed her eyes against stinging tears. And now the voice was back.

Please find me,
it had said.

Eliza wanted to get out of the bed, leave the house, and
never return to Maybrook.

Her father took her hand. “You’re safe now.”

“What happened?” she whispered.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he soothed.

“Tell me now,” she said, flinching at the pain in her neck.

Her father hesitated. “I heard you leave the house. At first
I thought you had gone for a short walk and would return soon. When you didn’t,
I told Ruth, and she guessed that you had gone to Maeve’s. So I rode over as
quickly as I could; it was as if someone was guiding me in the dark.”

Eliza swallowed painfully. She knew who was guiding her
father.

He continued. “I heard a terrific racket and ran to the
door, trying to push it open. Only it was blocked by something. Through the
slit I saw a man pinning you down . . .” His voice cracked. “He was choking
you.”

She brought a hand to her throat.

“It was strange, but the rocking chair fell on top of him,”
her father said. “How that is possible, I do not know. But it made him release
his grip on your neck.”

Eliza remembered the rocking chair lifting—and knew that the
only explanation for it was Helena.

“When the man saw me, he scrambled away from you and stood
up,” her father said. “I shot him with Ruth’s pistol.”

Eliza stared at her father’s haunted face, shocked at her
father’s actions. With great effort she asked, “Is he . . .?”

“The bullet hit him in the leg.” Her father grimaced. “I’ve
never been so scared in my life. The man’s in jail now—he can no longer hurt
anyone.”

She brought her father’s hand to her cheek, tears wetting
his palm. “His father killed Helena.”

Mr. Robinson stared at her. “Helena?”

“Jonathan Porter’s mother.” Eliza’s throat throbbed, but she
had to explain. “She used to live in Aunt Maeve’s house. I found Helena’s
journal and suspected how the poor woman died. Gus was trying to protect his
dead father’s name. He thought Aunt Maeve had learned the secret of Helena’s
death.”

Her father’s jaw locked firm. Then he took Eliza into his
arms and held her tightly. Even with the pain shooting through her neck, she
clung to her father and let the tears fall.

“Please find me.”

Eliza stiffened. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

“Hear what?” her father said.

Eliza broke from her father, fear thundering through her.
She’d discovered how Helena had died. She’d discovered who’d killed Maeve. Gus
was in jail now. What more could Helena possibly want?

Leave me alone!
she screamed inside.

“Father, I’m ready to go home,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Now.”

Settling into the train compartment, Eliza allowed her
father to fuss over her. He tucked blankets beneath her feet and placed a
pillow behind her head.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Mr. Robinson offered a brief smile, temporarily masking the
concern on his face. “Your mother will never forgive me.” The crease on his
forehead deepened. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

After Eliza had felt well enough to travel, she went with
her father to the constable’s office to make a sworn statement of all the facts
she knew. She wrote her testimony about Gus’s murder confession. Mr. Robinson
was congratulated for his timely appearance, and none were saddened at the
imprisonment of the strange man named Gus, now revealed as the murderer, who had
apparently followed in his father’s footsteps.

The bizarre event of how the rocking chair came to move
across the room and fall upon Gus was explained by an open window and a strong
gust of wind. But Eliza knew what had really happened. Helena had come to her
aide. Still, Eliza was grateful that she was leaving Helena behind for good.

Now, Eliza’s heart was heavy for a different reason. Her
father would tell Jonathan what had transpired and present him with Helena’s
journal. Eliza’s stomach churned as she thought about Jon reading his mother’s
words. Through her own close call with the younger Gus, she knew firsthand what
Helena must have experienced. Then another question fleeted through her mind,
but it was gone before she could answer it.

Why did Ruth own a pistol?

“Are you all right, dear? You look pale,” her father said.

“Only tired,” she whispered.

“Nothing will make me happier than to have you safe and
sound at home.”

When they arrived in New York, her father helped her off of
the train and into a waiting carriage.

Eliza settled into the carriage seat with relief. Dismal
clouds hung low in the sky, promising rain and dreary cold, but New York City
had never looked so beautiful to her.

When they at last arrived home, her mother was waiting. She
waved the maid away, followed Eliza into her room and helped her change from
her traveling clothes.

“I was so worried when I received the telegram from your
father. How are you feeling, dear?”

“Much better, Mother,” Eliza whispered.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you—I should have dragged you
home.”

Eliza smiled at the thought of her mother physically
dragging her. After all the tension that had been between them, it was good to
know that her mother truly cared. When Eliza was settled beneath the down
comforter and propped up with several pillows, she managed, “Are the papers
full of my tale of woe?”

“Fancy that you are so interested in the local gossip on
your first day back.”

Eliza laughed. “I guess I’ve changed.”

“The write-up was quite wonderful, actually,” her mother
said. “It outlined the death of poor Maeve and your fortunate discovery of the
murderer.”

“Really?”

“
Really
, Eliza. You’re so cynical.” She shook her
head. “The earlier gossip was not brought up in today’s paper, and neither was
the reason you went to Maybrook in the first place.”

“That’s a relief,” Eliza whispered.

Mrs. Robinson nodded. A knock sounded at the door. “Yes?” she
called out.

“Mr. Porter is waiting downstairs,” the maid, Bess, said
through the door. “And Mr. Robinson requests your presence, ma’am.”

Jon was here?

“I’m coming.”  Mrs. Robinson turned to Eliza. “Stay here. You’ll
be all right for a few moments?”

When her mother left, Eliza scanned the room, seeing it in a
different light. Even though it had only been a couple of months, everything
looked different, childish. Porcelain dolls lined one wall, and the curtains
were a cheerful pink. A stuffed and ragged doll sat amongst the porcelain
dolls—it was her childhood treasure. Her father had bought the doll for her
when she was sick with the measles.

But now the ragged doll seemed unbefitting in the dainty
room, as if she didn’t belong in such a pretty world. Eliza turned to her side
and hugged a pillow to her chest. She was like that doll, out of place in this
sheltered house.

The door clicked open, and her mother entered. “What a
persistent man. He practically tried to bowl over your father and come up the
stairs to see you. Thank goodness he finally left.” She frowned at Eliza.
“Patience is a virtue in a person, you know.”

He wants to see me.
Eliza hid a smile as her mother
fussed about the room. “He’s engaged to the socialite Apryl Maughan. She’s a
trifle gregarious for my taste, and her figure shows her indulgent lifestyle. I
don’t understand how a mother could let her daughter become so overweight.”

“Appearance isn’t everything,” Eliza croaked.

Her mother turned. “Of course not, dear. I wasn’t suggesting
such a thing. I was merely pointing out that there is always room for
improvement.”

Eliza stifled an exasperated sigh.

“You should get your rest,” her mother said, adjusting the
covers.

She waited until her mother left before letting out a moan
into her pillow. Her mother was so judgmental—ironically, not unlike the
Puritans who had ostracized Helena.

Warmth moved through her as she thought about Jon trying to push
his way through the house to her room. Soon the warmth was replaced by
exhaustion, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Eliza ran through the house, searching for Aunt Maeve.
All of the doors were locked, and she began pounding then, one by one, until
she finally started sobbing.

“Maeve, where are you?”

Then a knock sounded at the door, and she moved toward
it, almost floating. It was Gus, and his face was lined with fury. “Let me in!”

Eliza braced herself against the door, but couldn’t fend
off his weight. The door swung open, she fell, and Gus was standing above her.

“It’s time you joined Maeve.” He grabbed her hair and
pulled upward.

Eliza woke in her bed; the collar of her nightgown was damp.
She tried to still her heaving chest. The candle on the nightstand was wallowing
in a puddle of wax, since she hadn’t blown it out before falling asleep. Eliza
grabbed another candle, lighting it against the flame and placing it into a
candleholder. She couldn’t decide which was worse—the voice of Helena plaguing
her, or nightmares about Gus.

She began to shiver, so she rose and grabbed the ragged doll.
She climbed back into bed and held the tattered doll tightly, letting the
flickering candle burn itself out. It was a long time before she fell asleep
again.

***

In the morning, Eliza’s voice was nearly recovered, only
slightly hoarse. She stayed in bed long after breakfast, not ready to face the
daily chatter of local events. Bess brought her a tray in bed, and Eliza was
content with the quiet meal.

Before noon, her mother peeked in. “Are you ready to receive
visitors?”

“I suppose.”

Her mother smiled. “Wonderful. Mrs. Graydon will be coming
at three.”

Eliza hoped she was equal to the task. If Mrs. Graydon came,
there would be no need for anyone else to visit. The seventy-year old woman was
better than a newspaper at distributing news.

“I know what you’re thinking, Eliza, but Mrs. Graydon has
been one of the steadfast friends through all of this.” Mrs. Robinson removed a
letter from her pocket. “This was delivered this morning.” She handed Eliza the
small square envelope, her lips pursed.

“Thank you.” Eliza wondered if it was another note from
Nathaniel; she’d already received two. But there was no return address on the
envelope. She pulled out the brief message.

“I hope you’re feeling better.”

There was no signature, but Eliza recognized the handwriting
as Jon’s. Eliza burrowed into her covers, thinking about the man who seemed to
have plenty of compassion in him after all.

An hour later, Eliza was situated in the parlor, assailed with
the jasmine aroma that preceded Mrs. Graydon’s presence. Mrs. Graydon firmly
believed in making an indelible impression on everyone she met, and although
she was nearly seventy, Eliza thought the woman looked many years younger. Mrs.
Graydon kept up with the latest fashions, showing them off with her still-trim
figure.

Eliza smiled politely as the elegant woman sat next to her.
With each movement, Eliza caught a whiff of perfume. But Eliza was glad for the
visit—it made her feel normal. It made things like a ghostly voice seem unreal,
existing only in her imagination.

“You look pale, my dear,” Mrs. Graydon began. “And so thin.”
Her gaze flitted in Mrs. Robinson’s direction.

Eliza’s mother straightened in her chair. “Each day she
grows stronger.”

Mrs. Graydon placed a dry silky hand over Eliza’s. “After
what you’ve been through, it’s a wonder you are out of bed at all. My
granddaughter, Gina, would love to come and spend time with you. It will brighten
your countenance to socialize again.”

Eliza didn’t know Gina well, but it would be nice to have a
friend. All of her others had been silent since the Thomas Beesley incident. “I’d
love to visit with Gina.”

“What a dear,” Mrs. Graydon crooned, her eyes watering. “I
assure you, you’ve been at the top of my priorities. Just the other day, I went
to see poor Miss Mable. She’s still recovering from childbirth, you know. Some
women aren’t meant to bear children.”

Mrs. Robinson threw Mrs. Graydon a piercing stare; the woman
didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re normally a strong young thing,” Mrs. Graydon
continued. “When you marry, you’ll have healthy children.”

Eliza had to force herself not to laugh at her mother’s
shocked expression.

“Thomas Beesley has thankfully turned his attention
elsewhere.” It seemed Mrs. Graydon was not to be cowed. “As I told your mother,
I support your decision completely. No one should feel pressured to marry, certainly
in our modern world—”

“Well,” Mrs. Robinson interrupted. “Should I call for
refreshments?”

“Lovely,” Mrs. Graydon said, then turned her attention back
to Eliza. “Only a week ago, I ran into Mrs. Maughan. Have you met her?” Without
giving Eliza a chance to reply, she continued, “Her daughter, Apryl, is engaged
to a wealthy man—a Mr. Porter. Anyway, Mrs. Maughan thinks he’s inherited quite
a sum from his father’s estate.”

Yes, I know him.

As Mrs. Graydon filled her in on all the happenings in New
York, Eliza’s thoughts were far from the parlor.

Later that afternoon, with Mrs. Graydon gone, Eliza was
exhausted and begged not to receive any more visitors. Her mother helped make
her comfortable in the library by the fire.

“Your father and I have a dinner engagement tonight. Will
you be all right without us?” her mother asked.

“Of course, Mother. I can ask Bess if I need anything.”

Mrs. Robinson kissed Eliza’s cheek and left the room. Half
an hour later, Eliza heard them leave the house, and she was finally alone.

Dozing before the fireplace, she thought she heard the bell
ring. Bess answered, and a male voice resonated through the hallway. There was
some sort of discussion, and Eliza tried to make out what was being said and by
whom. The library doors opened, and Jonathan Porter strode into the room.

Bess hurried after him, protesting, “Sir—”

Eliza stood a bit awkwardly at the sight of Jon. “It’s all
right, Bess.”

The maid looked from Eliza to Jon, disapproval clear in her
eyes. But in a professional manner, she nodded curtly and left, closing the
doors behind her.

Jon stood there gazing at Eliza. She sat in her chair and
motioned for him to do the same. He crossed the room and stopped in front of her.
She offered him a faint smile, but he remained silent, his eyes searching hers.

“Hello, Mr. Porter,” she said.

The sound of her strained voice brought him to his senses. A
look of concern passed over his face as his gaze traced the dark bruises on her
neck. “Are you all right?”

Eliza shifted, feeling her face heat up. “Each day is a
little better.”

“Tell me what happened, if it’s not too . . . painful.”

She looked down at her lap, tears beginning to fill her
eyes.
Why am I crying? I haven’t cried since returning home.

Jon pulled a chair close to hers and sat down, grasping her
hand. It was a tender gesture really, nothing more than any gentleman would do,
yet it made Eliza’s heart pound harder than it should have.

“I’m all right.” She pulled her hand away from his.

“I should have been there,” he said, rising to his feet. He
shoved his hands in his pockets. “That man, Gus, is a strange one. I should
have seen it from the beginning when he was bothering you in the lighthouse.”

“How could you have known?”

Jon ignored her question and changed the subject. “I spent
all day reading my mother’s journal.”

Eliza looked at him, searching his eyes—what had he thought?
Had the news devastated him? He seemed more upset at Eliza’s condition than
reading about his mother’s broken heart.

“Your aunt’s murderer was the son of the man who murdered my
mother . . . unbelievable. And,” his voice softened as he looked at her, “he
nearly killed you, too.”

She swallowed hard. Before she knew it, Jon was kneeling in
front of her, taking both of her hands in his.

“Why was he allowed to get away with it?” he asked.

Eliza looked at her hands enfolded by his. She didn’t know
if he was talking about Gus Senior or the one who had attacked her.

“Both of those men—Gus and my father—used her. How could anyone
be so callous?” he said. “My father knew I had been conceived, yet he married
another woman. Only later in life did he try to contact me.” He snorted as he
added, “to offer me money out of a guilty conscience.”