Heart of the Ocean (6 page)

 “Of course.” She blinked rapidly. “I have been silly.”

Jon squeezed her hands. “I am doing this for us. My
inheritance depends upon this business trip, and I can’t put it off any
longer.” He lowered his voice. “It will do you good to be in the country. You
look quite pale today. Go enjoy yourself. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Her face brightened. “I guess it won’t be so bad. Although
his sister, Jessa, seems a little boorish.”

Jon chuckled. “You, my dear Apryl, can make any situation
lively.”

She raised a hand to his cheek and stroked it. Moments later
she was out the door.

When she was gone, Jon let his smile fade and began to pace
the room. He had never seen this side to her before—unsure, pleading, throwing
herself at him. He was the one who should have been insecure about their
separation. Maybe he should cancel the trip to Massachusetts. But once he had
his inheritance secured, not even Thomas Beesley could measure up.

The following morning, Jon met Mr. Christian Doughty at the
train station. Amidst the noise of fond farewells of other passengers and train
signals, they entered the passenger section and found an empty compartment.

“Did you bring a copy of the will?” Mr. Doughty asked as
soon as they were settled.

“Yes.” Jon reached into his traveling bag and pulled out the
document.

As the train rolled into motion, the compartment door flew
open. A tall man in a brown tweed entered. “Sorry for the interruption. Is this
seat taken?”

Mr. Doughty shook his head. Jon placed the will back into
his bag and watched in amusement as the stranger removed his overcoat and hat,
methodically folding the coat before placing it in the rack overhead. The man
sat next to him and stretched out his legs. Jon noticed the dull polish on the
man’s expensive shoes. He was probably well-to-do, but didn’t invest much time
in the upkeep of his appearance.

Across the aisle, Mr. Doughty was scrutinizing their new
guest too. “Business in Plymouth, Mr.—?”

“Philip Robinson,” the man said, leaning across the aisle
and extending his hand. “I’m traveling to my sister’s funeral.”

Mr. Doughty expressed his condolences, and Jon murmured in
agreement.

But Mr. Robinson was eager to expound. “Sent my daughter
there for a couple of months to stay with my sister, Maeve. A few nights ago,
my sister died.” He paused and rubbed his face. “Murdered.”

“How dreadful,” Jon said. This must be Maeve O’Brien’s
brother. Thinking about the poor woman reminded him of Eliza. He’d barely
caught a glimpse of her as he transported her to Ruth’s house that night, and
from there, Ruth had taken over. Eliza Robinson had seemed to be quite young,
and thin, and extremely distressed. And this man was her father.

“I don’t know any details,” Mr. Robinson said, as if he
needed to talk to someone about his situation. “Received the telegram yesterday
and decided to catch the first train out.”

Mr. Doughty stared at the man. “We wish you all the best in
finding the person responsible.”

“Thank you. It’s quite baffling. A quiet town and all.”

Jon stared out the window at the passing scenery, growing
more and more uncomfortable. He had to know for sure if this man was who he
thought he was. “What town did your sister live in?”

Mr. Robinson cleared his throat. “Maybrook. It’s probably
not even on a map. It’s a secluded Puritan settlement that managed to survive
all these years. My sister fell in love with a Puritan and decided to convert.”
He shook his head. “Imagine that. My parents would have turned in their graves
. . .”

Mr. Robinson was Eliza’s father, without a doubt.

“We’re traveling to the same town,” Mr. Doughty said.

Jon groaned inwardly and cast Doughty a warning glance.
Please
don’t tell Mr. Robinson our names.

Interest brightened Mr. Robinson’s face. “Do you have family
there?”

“My client and I,” Doughty said, tilting his head in Jon’s
direction, “are on a business trip.”

“May I ask what line of work you are in, sir?”

“Christian Doughty, estate lawyer, and my client . . .” He paused.

“I’m in litigation,” Jon said, trying to decide what exactly
he wanted this man to know.

“Litigation? Interesting,” Mr. Robinson said.

Jon desperately wanted to change the direction of the
conversation. “And what is your profession, sir?”

“I’m a furniture dealer.” At the surprised expressions, he
laughed. “Heard of Robinson-Beesley & Trade Co.?”

Mr. Doughty rubbed his chin. “I think my wife ordered a
bedroom set from your company several years ago.”

“Could very well be.”

As the two men talked, Jon stared out the window, thinking
about this man, who was Eliza’s father. He seemed to be a reasonable sort. Too
bad he’d gotten caught up with Thomas Beesley. Soon the conversation took
another turn.

 “I hope my daughter has come to her senses since living in
Maybrook,” Mr. Robinson said. “Eliza is quite heady for a young lady and
doesn’t appreciate the opportunities she’s been given.”

Jon listened to every word, his pulse quickening at the
mention of Eliza. It was entirely possible he’d see her again now, especially
after meeting her father. The town was just too small.

“It was quite an honor when my partner, Mr. Beesley, asked
for my daughter’s hand in marriage. To tell you the truth, I was flattered, and
my wife was excited to see our daughter settled with a secure future.”

“I can imagine,” Mr. Doughty murmured.

“I had no idea that Eliza would be fool enough to turn the
man down.”

Jon bit his lip, wondering if he could keep himself from laughing.
He knew very well why Mr. Robinson’s daughter would turn away a man like Thomas
Beesley. Even with his brief encounter with Eliza, Jon could tell the delicate
young woman was no match for Thomas. How old was she anyway? Seventeen?

Why was he thinking about her so much? With Mr. Robinson
also in Maybrook, Jon might run into Eliza as well. What would her reaction be
to seeing him again? She probably despised him—he hadn’t been able to keep her
out of jail and had spent a dismal night being abrupt with her. She wouldn’t
want to see him and be reminded of his rudeness.

One thing was certain: Apryl would
find this story amusing.

***

After helping Mistress Prann with morning chores, Eliza set
out across the fields on horseback. Mistress Prann had been worried about the
swirling clouds overhead and told her to take the chestnut mare. Eliza was more
than happy to be riding again and even more important, it allowed her to go to
the coast. She hoped to find Helena’s journal in the lighthouse.

Maeve’s funeral was being planned by the town, and Eliza’s
father was on his way, which meant she’d be returning home to New York soon.
Today might be the last chance she had to find out more about the ghost, as
long as she could find the journal. The voice hadn’t spoken to her since her
last visit to her aunt’s place. It seemed the woman only spoke in the area of
the lighthouse or Maeve’s home. If what Maeve had believed was true—that Helena
Talbot’s spirit had never left—then the voice belonged to her.

Eliza heard the ocean surf before it came into view. She
rode the mare right up to the cliffs, and at the noise below, it became
jittery. Eliza urged the mare south, toward the lighthouse. When she neared it,
she stopped near a lone tree and tied the horse to the trunk.

The lighthouse towered above her. It had seen better days,
but the size and construction were still awe inspiring. Eliza ran her hand
along the side of the rough, chipped wall—the coats of whitewash had long since
been faded by the weather. Grasping the rusted latch, she was surprised to find
that it wouldn’t budge. The door was locked. She circled the building, looking
for another entrance. Then she stopped in front of the door again and frowned.
Had her aunt locked it the night of the storm?

Eliza remembered only the mad dash toward the house. Aunt
Maeve couldn’t have taken time to lock the door. Eliza fingered the giant
keyhole—there was no lock mechanism inside.

The door had to be stuck. Eliza pushed hard then used her
shoulder against it. Finally it flew open. A couple of roosting doves fluttered
at the movement and flew past her.

Stepping inside, Eliza realized she’d never really inspected
the old structure. A thick layer of dust seemed to cover the walls, but when
she moved closer, she realized it was mold. In the middle of the floor, a
winding staircase rose to the landing above, as if reaching to the heavens. One
by one, she ascended the steps, passing narrow windows on the way. At the top,
she was surprised to find how cozy the loft was. A hay-stuffed chair stood in
the middle of the circular room, and a stack of books sat on the floor.

Eliza picked up a leather volume and traced the title—Frankenstein,
by Mary Shelley. Interesting. Not something her aunt would probably choose to
read. The buzzing of a lazy fly caught her attention, probably the last one of
the year. She leafed through the remaining books, but none were journals.
Checking beneath the chair, she found only dust and a lone cobweb. Eliza felt
along the crevices of the wall, but nothing was loose, and the floorboards
underneath her feet seemed solid enough.

The door to the lighthouse banged. Eliza froze—was it the
wind? Then she heard footsteps on the stairs below.

Eliza turned with a start. Someone had entered the
lighthouse. She walked to the head of the steps, heart hammering, trying to
decide what to do. Please don’t be the constable. Then she realized that she
had as much right to be here as anyone. After all, the lighthouse used to be
run by her uncle.

She stepped into the stairwell and called, “Who’s there?”

No one answered, but she heard the footsteps continued up
the staircase. She moved behind the chair, waiting to see who came into view,
her breath coming fast.

A shock of rust-red hair appeared first, then a young man’s
ruddy face covered in pockmarks. Eliza found herself staring at the most
brilliant blue eyes she’d ever seen.

“What’re ’ee doing ’ere?” The man spoke with a thick and
garbled tongue.

Perhaps he was older than she was, or younger by a year or
two; it was difficult to tell.

“I’m visiting. Who are you?”

He took a step forward. “I’m the lighthouse keeper. I never
see’d thee before.”

A dank stench coming from the man reached Eliza. She tried
not to breathe in too deeply. “I’m Maeve O’Brien’s niece. My uncle used to own
this lighthouse.”

He shifted his stance awkwardly. “I liked ole Mr. O’Brien,
tho’ his wife was too nosey.”

Eliza hid a smile. “I didn’t know there was a lighthouse
keeper. I’ve never seen you here before either.”

“Don’t need to come much since they closed it. But I reckon I
should keep an eye on the place, all the same,” he said.

Something about his movements weren’t quite right. He licked
his lips a couple of times, and his arms hung heavily at his sides. “What’s
your name?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed. “Thou asks a lot of questions.”

“You know my name.”

He studied her for a moment then replied, “Gus. My dad was
the lighthouse keeper, and his dad before ’im. We’re all Gus.” He grinned,
revealing gapped teeth. His gaze seemed to swallow her, and he inched closer.

Eliza felt an urgent need to get out of the building. “Are
these your books, Gus?”

He nodded. “I read ’em over and over.”

“Perhaps I could bring you more books sometime.”

Gus’s eyes lit up. “Sure.”

“But I’d better hurry home now.” She took a step forward and
was relieved when he stepped aside and let her pass.

She escaped down the stairs without trying to make her hurry
obvious, but Gus followed her.

Reaching the bottom, she pushed open the door and stepped
out in time to run into someone standing outside the entrance. Arms encircled
her, steadying her feet.

“Sorry,” Eliza sputtered, fervently hoping the person
holding her wasn’t Gus Senior.

“What’s the hurry?” came a deep voice.

Eliza looked up at the man. She knew those dark eyes
.
Jonathan Porter.
She tried to hide her surprise. “What are
you
doing
here?”

Gus barreled out the door, panting. “Why didst thou go so
fast?”

She turned. “I’m expected back home soon. I can bring by a
book another day and leave it here for you.”

Gus’s face broke into a wide grin, and then he looked at
Jon. “Hallo, sir.” 

“Keeping the lighthouse in good condition?”

Gus’s chest puffed out. “That I am, sir.”

Eliza watched the interchange with surprise. Jon seemed
almost  . . . friendly. Not the imposing, irritable man she’d known so far. She
took a quick glance in his direction. She hadn’t realized how tall he was—he
practically towered over her.

Jon asked Gus about his family, whom he proudly offered up
information about.

“Thanks for watching out for Ruth,” Jon said.

Gus grinned. “She gave me sweets.”

“That’s because you helped her out so much.”

Gus nodded vigorously. When he left a few moments later,
Eliza felt strangely relieved.

Except now, Jon’s full attention was on her. “Enjoying your
freedom?” His dark eyes seemed to penetrate into her.

Was he teasing? Upset? The eyes that Eliza could have sworn
were black were actually a dark brown. “I thought you’d left Maybrook.”

“I did,” he said in a stiff tone. “But now I’m back.”

There was his aloof manner. She folded her arms, tired of
being made to feel guilty when she was around him. After all, her aunt had been
killed, and everything else that followed was minor in importance. “Even though
you have a foul temper, and can’t seem to manage a civil word to a lady, thank
you for helping me out the night of the storm.”

Jon’s mouth lifted at the corners. Was he laughing at her?
Heat spread through her neck at the insult.

“What do you mean
I
have a foul temper?” he said,
looking down at her. “Can you blame me? I went to
jail
because I helped
you.”

“I—I know. But I apologized earlier.” Eliza’s face reddened
as he continued to stare at her. What was going through his mind? Did she have
to apologize every time she saw him? “Thank you for getting them to release me.”

Jon stared at her until she had to look away.

“Is there something you wanted to say?” she asked.

He blinked as if he were coming out of some sort of trance.
“I thought you were much younger.” He looked away.

What did her age have to do with anything? She wondered
about this man who seemed to be two different people. “Tell me about Gus,” she
said. “I’ve lived here a month and never met him before now.”