Perfect in My Sight (7 page)

I can’t seem to stop crying tonight. What a child I am! It’s not as though he ever
lied to me, is it? It’s not as though he promised me his heart. How I wish I could
speak with Sarah! How I wish I
did
not love him so much!

Why must he turn to Cile instead of me? I know
something is going on, and yet I
cannot put my finger upon it. Ruth has implied so much. I know what I am going to
do. It is my last chance, I think, to win him back. I
f he sees that I have withdrawn
... if he loves me just a
bit... he will urge me to come back. Won’t he?

I’m going to move into—

“
Am I disturbing you?
”

Sarah started at the voice,
hiding
the timeworn newspaper clipping into the pocket of her skirt at once. Thank God her
dark glasses shielded her surprise at the unannounced intrusion.
“
Not at all,
”
she said, her heart hammering.

The woman standing at her door was not so much unattractive as she was dour. Her dark
eyes were narrowed on Sarah, assessing, and her spectacles fell low upon the bridge
of a nose that seemed too large for the thin face she bore. It might have been an
attractive feature, Sarah thought, on a man, but on her it was less than appealing.
Her rich blue-black hair was caught back a bit too severely, and she stood tall, almost
as tall as Peter Holland.

“
I
’
m Ruth Holland,
”
the woman
offered
, and suddenly the voice was familiar.
“
We met briefly at your interview.
”

As with their first meeting, her tone was disapproving.

“
Yes, I remember,
”
Sarah replied, and Ruth entered the room without invitation, looking idly about,
though her stride seemed to hold a particular purpose. She circled Sarah, hardly sparing
her a glance, her attention drawn about the room.

Sarah felt a bit like a hare being stalked by a hungry wolf.

“
It has been quite some time since I
’
ve stepped foot into this room. It still manages to make me ill,
”
she said finally, though without emotion.

“
This room?
”
Sarah replied, trying to seem oblivious to her meaning. She was not, however, and
her heart began to beat a little faster.

Peter had spoken briefly of Mary, but Sarah hadn
’
t dared to ask intrusive questions so soon. She was eager now for every little bit
of information she could glean.

“
Yes,
”
Ruth answered.
“
This is
the
room, I
’
m afraid.
”

“
What room?
”
Sarah persisted.
“
I
’
m certain I don
’
t understand.
”

Ruth cocked her head a little in disbelief.
“
Do you not read the papers?
”
she began, and then at once reprimanded herself.
“
Oh,
yes,
silly me! What a goose I am! You wouldn
’
t be able to read now, would you?
”

Her tiny smirk, the one Sarah wasn
’
t supposed to see, provoked her ire.

“
Forgive me,
”
she said, studying Sarah.

Her obvious condemnation, and her lack of regard for Sarah
’
s supposed condition, were shocking. Was t
his how she treated her nephew
?

Or was there another reason she seemed so determined to prick Sarah
’
s temper?

Watching Peter
’
s sister out of the
corner
of her eye, Sarah braced herself. Her hands fell to her sides and she consciously
flattened them upon her skirt, willing her annoyance to ease. It wouldn
’
t do to become angered, she knew. This was Ruth Holland
’
s home, not hers. She was the guest with the precarious position. If Ruth didn
’
t want her about, Sarah was certain she had some say in the matter.

“
In any case,
”
Ruth continued,
“
this room leaves me ill at ease.
”
She was watching Sarah carefully.
“
You did know that Christopher
’
s mother was murdered here, did you not?
”

Interesting choice of words, Sarah thought. Christopher
’
s mother? Not Peter
’
s wife?

It was as though she denied Mary that rightful title.
Had she not liked Mary
?

“
I wasn
’
t aware,
”
Sarah said.
“
Murdered?
”

“
Yes. Nasty business, that. The papers accused my brother,
”
she
said
and didn
’
t elaborate. Sarah wondered that she did not at once defend her brother.

Was he guilty, then?

Did Ruth know the truth?

“
She was discovered just about where you are standing, in fact.
”

What a morbid fact to impart to a guest!

Again she seemed to be watching Sarah
’
s reaction carefully. What was it precisely that she was after with this discourse?

Sarah restrained herself from peering down where she stood... at the floor where her
cousin
’
s body had lain...

“
That is
certainly
not, however,
why I came to speak to you.
”

Sarah tried to compose herself, tried not to think of Mary
’
s final moments. She blinked, and shook her head, and then forced herself to ask,
“Why
... why did you?
”

“
I came to tell you that if you have the least decency at all, Miss Hopkins, you will
leave this house at once and leave that poor child alone. He has suffered enough in
this, and I shall not stand by to see him hurt anymore.
”

The attack came so suddenly that it took Sarah aback.
“
I beg your pardon!
”
she exclaimed.
“
I am not here to harm
the
child. In fact, it is my fervent wish that I might be able to help him!
”

And God help her, if it was the last thing she did, she would indeed. How dare she
be accused without reason. Thinking Ruth must surely be expressing doubts concerning
the legitimacy of the Braille system, Sarah tried to reassure her.
“
It is true that Braille is not so widely supported as yet, but it is a valid and effective
system, Miss Holland. If you need reassurances, I would be most pleased to provide—
”

“
This has absolutely nothing to do with your silly alphabet!
”

Sarah blinked behind her spectacles, taken aback by the woman
’
s vehemence.

“
It has everything to do with Christopher,
”
she continued angrily.
“
That child is merely six years old,
”
she pointed out,
“
and I am deeply troubled to see him treated as though he were an adult. He is not—he
is but six years old!
”

Sarah had been so eager to use this opportunity that she
’
d never even considered the things Ruth was suddenly spouting at her.

“
Why can he not be allowed to be a child? Why must he become a man so soon?
”

Sarah didn
’
t have the answers to her questions, but she suddenly felt conscience-stricken for
the accusations thrown at her.

Ruth seemed to realize her words were registering, because she calmed and said,
“
As I said, Miss Hopkins, if you have any decency at all, you will leave here at once.
You will hand my brother your notice and you will leave that poor child in peace.
”

Sarah shook her head. She couldn
’
t. She just couldn
’
t leave without finding out the truth. She couldn
’
t simply walk out the door—and even less now that such an implication had been made
concerning Christopher.
If what Ruth said was true, then Christopher needed her.

She straightened.
“
I am quite sorry if you disagree with your brother
’
s decision, Miss Holland, but no, I cannot agree to leave here. And furthermore,
”
Sarah pointed out,
“
If I do go, who is to say your brother will not hire someone else to take my place?
”

“
And why
would
that concern you?
”
Ruth Holland asked bitterly.

Sarah refused to be cowed by threats or intimidation, no matter the validity of her
reasoning.

“
This is not something I chose to do, Miss Holland. This profession chose me. If I
can help that child, then my own loss is not so great. I suppose you might say I am
doing this for me, as well.
”
And for Mary, she wanted to shout.

Ruth
’
s face paled with anger. Her lips thinned, and her hands shook at her side.
“
I am not powerless
in this, you realize. I am not!
And so understand me when I tell you, Miss Hopkins, that if I feel yo
u are a threat—to that child—
I swear to God you will be removed from this house at once!
”

Sarah stood there, her own anger fading in the face of Ruth
’
s fury. She had nothing to say in response. Ruth Holland clearly loved her nephew
and would protect him at all cost. And knowing that, how could Sarah truly be angry?
She wanted so much suddenly to reassure Ruth, but dared not, and so she simply stood
there.

“
If you have a complaint with the way I perform my duties,
”
Sarah replied finally,
“
I suggest you take it up with your brother.
”

“
I shall be watching you,
”
she apprised Sarah, her eyes narrowing with open condemnation.

“
I understand.
”

“
My brother will not be available for the evening meal, Miss Hopkins. I suggest you
order dinner served in your room.
”

And with that, she spun on her heels and left the room, her message perfectly clear:
Sarah was not welcome in her home.
She had no allies here, but she hadn
’
t expected any. She had Mel, and she had justice behind her
—
and she wasn
’
t going to leave until she learned the truth.

Peter and Ruth Holland be damned!

CHAPTER
7

Cile Morgan was accustomed to things going her way.

The fact that Peter had attempted to excuse himself at least three times since their
client had departed didn’t seem to be fazing her in the least.

And despite the fact that she hadn’t made a single attempt to seduce him before he’d
called it a night, she was suddenly adamant that he stay with her.

“Since when do you rush home?” she asked, and gave him that little half smile that
promised rewards if only he played her way.

And he always did; he knew which buttons to push, knew how to tease her.

“Christopher has long been in bed, darling.”

It was true, normally he didn’t find himself in a hurry. But tonight was different.
Tonight he was anxious. “It’s been a long day, Cile,” he said, and reached into his
pocket, withdrawing his watch. He checked the time: 8:20 p.m. He wondered if Sarah
was already abed.

Was she an early riser?

Did she awake full of energy?

Or was she slow to stir... her body stretching lazily against the sheets... her hair
spilling upon her pillow...

His body stirred at the images that came to mind.

Cile protested with a familiar whine, a low, throaty purr that normally managed to
tighten his loins and make him hungry for a more fleshly sort of dessert. Tonight,
however, it only managed to annoy him.

Her ice blue eyes narrowed slightly and her beautifully painted lips formed a sensual
pout. “You are no fun tonight,” she complained. “Whatever has gotten into you? You
have been sitting there the entire eve looking for all the world as though you were
ready to leap up any moment and fly.” A few strands of the hair in her coif came free
and fell into her face. She blew them away, and turned her expectant gaze upon Peter
once more.

The truth was, Peter had no blasted notion what had gotten into him. His thoughts
kept returning to his houseguest.

Something about Sarah struck him as odd.

Something about her attracted the hell out of him as well.

He stared at his glass of wine and then returned his attention to his companion, meeting
her sultry gaze. Cile’s eyes were quite beautiful, and yet they lacked the warmth
Mary’s had had when first he’d met her. Cile was hardly the sort one imagined rocking
a baby to sleep. Nor could he envision her lying upon the floor surrounded with toy
soldiers and blocks.

Damn, he’d let so much slip away.

Reaching out, he fingered the glass of wine, and wondered what color Sarah Hopkins’
eyes were.

His mind embraced a picture of his wife, his lover, the two of them gazing into one
another’s eyes... and it was Sarah he saw.

He had been able to see into Mary’s heart when he’d looked into her eyes. He had recognized
both her love and then her hate for him, and though her withdrawal had been painful,
he’d never had to guess at her feelings. That was the problem with Cile; he had never
guessed at any of her thoughts. Her beautiful eyes were rarely a window into her heart,
merely a reflection of her mood.

And yet Cile had never done anything but look after his best interest; if she had
anything other than genuine concern for him, he wouldn’t know it. He didn’t sense
in her any sort of agenda. She had money enough, and he doubted she even wanted a
new husband in her life. If she had any selfish motive at all, it was simply that
she was greedy for his company. She didn’t seem to appreciate his taking an interest
in other women.

Until now, that hadn’t been a problem.

He lifted the glass of merlot and tilted it toward him, swirling the fragrant liquid
until it eddied against the fine crystal, but he didn’t lift it to his lips.

What was it about Sarah that drew him?

“I appreciate the introduction tonight,” he told Cile. “An account with August Belmont
is nothing to sneeze at.”

Her disappointment was palpable. She retreated a bit, sitting straighter in her chair.
“Of course, Peter,” she said, and sighed. “I know you do, and it was my pleasure to
introduce you. At any rate, he has entirely too much money to invest with one firm,
and I have every faith you will serve him well. He knows it, too, or I’d never have
talked him into this meeting tonight. I really didn’t do you any favors, you know.”

“You do me entirely too many,” Peter countered. “I shall never be able to repay you.”

Cile cocked her head with an expression of annoyance and leaned all the way back in
her chair. “I have never asked you to… have I?”

It was true.

She never had.

And yet he’d never been able to get beyond a sense of indebtedness to her. He stared
at her a moment, and then looked away.

“Good lord!” she exclaimed when he didn’t reply. “I don’t think I like what I am sensing!”

He hadn’t meant to offend her with his silence. He stopped swirling the glass’ contents
a bit too abruptly and spilled a deep red droplet upon the table. It soaked into the
white cloth until only a deep shade of mauve remained.

“What in blazes is wrong with you?”

Peter shook his head. “Not a thing,” he assured, and scratched at the spot upon the
tablecloth. “I’ve merely a few things on my mind.”

“Oh? And what is her name?” Cile demanded at once.

Startled by the question, Peter looked into her eyes. “Her?”

“I am not stupid, Peter!”

“I hardly said you were, Cile.”

“I cannot remember a time when you have seemed less interested,” she said, pouting.
“You sat here even with Mr. Belmont and seemed wholly lost in your own thoughts, and
I cannot imagine anything that should capture a man’s attention so fully but another
woman.”

Peter didn’t know what to say.

“Who is she, Peter?”

He glanced once more at his watch, and then shoved it into his pocket. “You are being
ridiculous, Cile.”

“Am I?”

“I’m merely tired,’'‘ he assured her, and made to rise. “It’s been quite a long day.
I’ll see you home now, I think.”

“Humph!” she said, and rose from her chair. “We shall see, shall we not?” She gave
him a narrow-eyed glare and reached across the table to seize his glass of wine. Without
a word, she drank it down and then clunked the glass upon the table, giving him a
pointed glance. “No need to waste good wine. And no need to see me home, darling.
I’ll go just the way I came. I’ll call myself a cab.”

She’d left angry.

Of that particular fact, Sarah had little doubt.

Sarah sat upon the small bed and contemplated the things Ruth Holland had revealed
to her. It was true that Christopher was entirely too young, in relation to his peers,
to begin to learn how to read. Most children his age were hardly contemplating school
at all, much less reading. And yet she remembered the spark of intelligence in his
eyes and couldn’t say she had been struck first by his youth. She hadn’t even considered
it at all, in fact, but neither had she before she’d met him. Her mind had been focused
primarily upon her goal.

The missing journal.

She slid off the bed and began to pace the room.

Where would it be?

Giving the room a cursory search, she considered the possibility that it might be
here in this room where Mary had slept, though she doubted it. It had been more than
six years since Mary’s death, and even had Mary kept them here, Sarah doubted they
had been overlooked all this time.

Besides, there were too few places to hide something of that nature, especially when
all of the New York City police force and a guilty husband might be searching for
it.

Keeping that thought in mind, Sarah made her way to the wardrobe. Opening its smooth
mahogany doors, she expected to find nothing. She wasn’t disappointed; it was empty,
but for a very ornately designed hatbox.

Stooping to reach it, she lifted it up, testing its weight. She then set it back down.
There was something within, but she couldn’t imagine what it could be. It was too
noisy to be a hat, and too light to be Mary’s journal. Then, of course, she hardly
expected to find it so soon, and out in the open as this was. She opened the box and
sifted through the pale tissue, searching for the object she had heard rattle across
the bottom of the box. It was nothing of any substantial size, that much was certain.
Her fingers skimmed the bottom of the box until she felt the object. She drew it out
and blinked at the sight of it. It was a small golden key, tiny like a charm from
a bracelet. In fact, attached to it was a tiny golden loop that appeared as though
it had been pried apart. Perhaps it was a charm, but it was nothing Sarah recognized.
Like Sarah, Mary had not been one to wear jewelry. She stared at it, admiring it,
and then dropped the small trinket back into the box, replaced the lid, and returned
it. Rising, she closed the wardrobe doors. That done, she moved down to the only drawer
in the wardrobe, a long, thin one at the foot of the hefty piece of furniture.

Opening the drawer revealed a folded soft blue cloth. Sarah lifted up the blanket
and let it unfold into her lap. A baby blanket, solid blue with the beginnings of
an embroidery in its center. A closer inspection revealed a threaded needle still
embedded within its folds, and a strand of dark blue thread. The embroidery appeared
to be a set of initials. She could make out the C quite clearly, but the next initial
was unclear... maybe a J?

She sat down upon the wood floor and reverently traced the embroidery with a finger.
She had never known Mary to embroider; but she was quite certain it was Mary’s effort.
The stitches were far from perfect, but lovingly done. Had she been stitching the
blanket just before she’d died? Or had she given it her best effort and found her
patience lacking and set it aside?

Knowing Mary, and Sarah liked to think she did despite that they’d parted ways so
long before her death, she had decided to embroider, and embroider she did, and hadn’t
set it aside at all. No... Sarah was near certain she would have finished the task
she’d set herself, and if the blanket was for Christopher, she hardly would have lost
the passion for it.

The initials... C for Christopher. But J…

With a sigh of disgust, she realized she didn’t know Christopher’s middle name. John?
Jack? God! Life was unfair. She hugged the blanket to her breast and allowed herself
to grieve once more. For Mary...

Her throat closed. Her cousin had been her closest friend. Her sister, for all purposes.
They had been confidantes, had shared everything together, and here was such an enormous
portion of Mary’s life that Sarah knew nothing about.

She couldn’t help herself. She began to weep silently.

She sat on the floor in this room where Mary had died, hugging a blanket Mary had
been sewing for the child Sarah had never known, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

Who was this man who had taken everything from her?

Who was Peter Holland really?

And why had Mary thrown away so much to be with him? How could she face Mary’s husband
in the morning after sleeping in this room where Mary had died? Burying her face in
the blanket, she wept quietly... lest someone overhear.

She would face Peter Holland because she must.

There were no choices to be made here.

Mary hadn’t been given one, and neither had Christopher, and she owed it to both of
them to make things right.

Peter Holland might have the face of an angel, she reminded herself, but he had the
heart of a jackal—at the very least for throwing Mary away so coldly.

Sarah was determined to see him pay.

Someone must.

It wasn’t Peter’s idea of a warm welcome.

He’d insisted upon seeing Cile home only because he didn’t particularly like the thought
of leaving her to fend for herself on New York’s streets at night. Cile Morgan rather
liked to think herself a match for any man, but the truth was that she would be little
more than dessert for some of the city’s seedier sort.

He lived already with one woman’s death on his conscience. He certainly didn’t intend
to add another.

His sister greeted him at the door in a fit of temper unlike anything he had ever
witnessed in her before. The best he could make from her rambling was that she’d had
words with Sarah Hopkins, and that their guest had eschewed dinner with her new pupil.
Christopher had been heartily disappointed, and to say Ruth was angry was an understatement.

He left Ruth, promising to speak to their guest, and ignoring her protests that he
should do precisely the contrary—that if Miss Hopkins didn’t care enough to make the
effort, he must be wrong about her character. Peter didn’t think so. One did not fake
the sincerity he’d heard in her voice when she’d spoken to his son. He didn’t know
how to explain it, but his gut told him that Sarah Hopkins was good for Christopher.