The Lightkeeper's Daughter (9 page)

BOOK: The Lightkeeper's Daughter
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“Thanks.” His head fell back against the pillow. “I didn’t tell Henry, but I think the attacker intended murder. He had a knife, as you know.”

She put her hand to her throat. “How did you escape him?”

“I kicked the knife out of his hand. He shoved me, and I fell back into the tree. Clara came out onto the porch and began to scream as he came toward me. I think her presence prevented him from finishing the job. He grabbed his knife and ran off into the forest.”

“You think the attacker wanted to kill you because you brought me here?”

His intent gaze held hers. “I’m a pharmacist and well liked. No one has so much as held up my drugstore.”

“Why didn’t the man try to kill me, too, then?” she asked, her head spinning with questions. “He merely threatened me until he could tie me up. I was an easy mark if he intended murder.”

He picked at the sheet. “I don’t know,” he said after a long pause. “Maybe he thought it would cause the police to dig into your background and the truth would come out.”

“There’s nothing to be found if someone investigates me. Even those in Crescent City know me as the lightkeeper’s daughter.” She rubbed her eyes. “Have you heard from your investigator yet?”

“I received a call this morning. The attorney’s office that processed the funds sent to your parents was destroyed by the Great Fire. All records were lost, so my investigator can’t find out anything by examining them. I’d hoped he could bribe someone to let him look at the records without involving the attorney.”

“Oh no! Will we be able to find any proof?”

“If he can locate the attorney, my agent might be able to persuade him to reveal the story, but that’s a long shot. If not, the locket and your resemblance will have to do.”

“What resemblance?”

He pointed to a painting over the fireplace that she’d paid little attention to. “Look at that picture of Laura.”

She rose and stepped to the painting. Her mother. Addie had longed to see what she looked like, but she hadn’t yet found a photograph. She drank it in. “Her hair is redder than mine. And she has green eyes.” The woman’s demure smile said she knew she was beautiful. And she was. Lustrous red hair lay coiled at the nape of her neck. The turquoise gown she wore accentuated the depth of her eyes.

Some dim memory struggled to bubble to the forefront of her memory. Soft hands, a sweet voice. Words of love. “She’s much more beautiful than I,” Addie whispered.

“Look beyond her more vivid coloring. Notice the shape of her nose, the fullness of her lips, the dimple in her right cheek. The similarities are subtle, but they’re there if one knows where to look.”

“Many people have dimples.” Her fingers pressed the outline of the locket under her bodice.

“Perhaps it’s easier for me to see because I loved Laura. You have her smile.”

“But why would anyone want to prevent me from being united with my father?” She could look into the woman’s laughing eyes no longer. She went back to the chair. “Do you have any idea who would have paid for my upkeep? You mentioned one of my father’s rivals. Is there anyone else?”

Mr. Driscoll sipped his water. “I have some ideas.”

“Such as?”

“You are nearly twenty-five, correct?”

She nodded. “My mother said I was about two when my father rescued me.”

“I suspected Clara in the beginning. She met Henry first, and he sought her hand until he met your mother.”

Addie liked her aunt, and the thought she might be behind her situation disturbed her. “Clara? What would be her reason to keep me away?”

“She might have wanted to wipe away all traces of Laura and her relationship with Henry.”

She leaned back in the chair. “That seems so Shakespearean.”

“He wrote about human nature. Jealousy is a powerful motivator.”

“I suppose. What about an inheritance?” she asked.

Driscoll pursed his lips. “Laura’s grandfather Francis died about two years ago. You are the beneficiary in his will. The will dictated the estate would go to you on your twenty-fifth birthday. In the event of your death, it would go to Clara, who intends it to be Edward’s.”

“Why Clara? This wouldn’t be her grandfather, right? You and Clara had a different maternal grandmother.”

He nodded. “That’s right. But Laura was his only living relative at the time he drew up the will. He liked Clara, and when the attorney recommended a contingency bequest, Francis decided to leave his estate to her. I believe Henry forgot about the inheritance until recently. When he realized the passing of ownership was due to take place, he realized he had to have you declared dead.”

“Just me? What about my mother?”

“He had her declared dead before he married Clara. I assume he thought it wasn’t necessary for a child.”

“And maybe he thought my great-grandfather would change his will.”

He nodded. “The legal step has taken some time, and it’s not yet completed. When that happens, the land will pass to Clara, who has drawn up papers for Edward to receive it.”

“A great-grandfather.” Addie clasped her hands together. “I always wished for grandparents.”

“He was a remarkable man. He doted on you.”

Yearning tugged at her heart. She’d missed out on so much love. “But all this still doesn’t tell us who had anything to gain by keeping my presence a secret all these years.”

Mr. Driscoll set his glass of water back on the bed stand. “We need to find out.”

“What difference does it make now? I don’t want anything from the Eaton estate. All I want is to make my father love me.”

“I mentioned I feared for Henry’s safety. The other possibility in today’s attack is that he was the intended target, and the assailant didn’t try very hard to hurt me when he realized he had the wrong man.”

“I see,” she said slowly. “You think whoever paid for me to be kept away is now about to move against Mr. Eaton.”

“And perhaps you.”

She gulped. The sensation of cold metal against her throat had been terrifying. But nothing was enough to drive her from the family she was just coming to know.

N
INE

A
DDIE SLEPT POORLY
, startling awake at the slightest creak of a floorboard or the hoot of an owl outside her window. When she finally pulled back the curtains, the sun had crested the tops of the redwood trees and streamed through her back bedroom window. From the other window to the front, she could almost see past the town to the ocean’s waves.

She’d thought leaving the lighthouse would be exciting, romantic. Now she longed for the roar of the waves outside her window and the cry of a seagull diving for a fish. The familiar held more appeal than she’d ever imagined.

Turning from the view, she washed at the pitcher and bowl on her dresser, then pinched a bit of color into her cheeks. She selected a white blouse detailed with tucks, and a gray skirt. When she stepped out of her room, her nose caught the aroma of sausage. She could just hurry down the back stairway and find her book before breakfast. Once she got back, she’d braid her hair and put shoes on, but for now, she wanted to talk with the Lord and dangle her toes in the water at the falls. It would almost be like standing at the ocean’s edge. If she went down the back way, no one would know.

On the way out, she checked Edward’s room and found it empty, then went down the back staircase to the first floor. Where was the rear door? The manor easily comprised forty rooms, and the labyrinth of halls and doorways confused her. It would take weeks before she could find her way easily. She went toward the back of the hall and found the smell of food stronger. Following her nose, she walked past a study, another drawing room, a ladies’ lounge, and a library before seeing Mrs. Eaton in her study.

The kitchen had to be nearby. That’s where the back door would be. She started past the study, but Mrs. Eaton called to her. Addie turned. “Yes, ma’am?”

Mrs. Eaton sat on a chair, with her gray silk skirt spread around her. “Come in, dear.”

Addie looked down and spied her bare feet. Maybe Mrs. Eaton wouldn’t notice if she scooted slowly into the room so her feet didn’t show. She entered the room. Various needlepoint projects lay on a table, and smaller furniture pieces matched a female’s size. She tucked her feet under her skirt as she sank onto a pink brocade chair beside a plant stand that held a fern.

Mrs. Eaton laid down her needlepoint. “I would like to discuss the ball with you.” She pointed at Addie. “That blouse. Did you make it, Adeline?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Eaton slipped her glasses onto her nose and inspected the garment. “The pin tucks and embroidery are quite lovely. You’re very talented.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Eaton. How might I help you?”

“What ideas have you come up with for my gown?”

Addie gulped. Sally had mentioned that the woman had already tossed aside one gown made by a top dressmaker. Mrs. Eaton had said no more about the dress in the last couple of days, and Addie hoped she’d abandoned the idea. “What if you hate it, Mrs. Eaton? I want to please you, but I admit I’m fearful.”

The woman’s brows rose. “Are you saying I’m hard to please, Adeline?”

“We met only days ago, and I have no way of knowing that,” Addie said.

Mrs. Eaton laughed. “You certainly speak your mind, child. I rather like that.”

“My father always told me I was the lightkeeper’s daughter. God’s child. And only truth would do.” She winced at the words. Her father hadn’t followed his own advice.

Mrs. Eaton picked up her needlepoint again. “You listen to him. The world could use more honesty. Now, what about that dress?”

“If I know clearly what you want and start right away, I can get it done. Provided I can find the proper material,” she added.

Pink bloomed in the matron’s cheeks, and her eyes sparkled. “I’d like something in chiffon. Very elegant and flowing, with lace framing my face. Maybe in white.”

Addie feared she knew exactly what Mrs. Eaton was talking about. “You wouldn’t prefer something in brocade or silk?” Something more suited to her age.

Mrs. Eaton shook her head. “I want the latest fashion. Brocade is so matronly.” She picked up a magazine and thumbed through it. “Like this.”

Addie rose and took the magazine from her employer’s hand. It was as she suspected—something much more suited to her age than to Mrs. Eaton’s.

Truth. The truth in love. “Ma’am, I fear this would not suit you well. Would you give me leave to try a pattern I saw in the latest
Godey’s?
It’s quite elegant, and no one else in town would have anything approaching its magnificence. It has a matching turban that’s all the rage in Paris.”

"Paris?”

“It would highlight your splendid eyes,” Addie said. “They are a beautiful shade of green. I’ve never seen such lovely eyes.”

The older woman preened. “Very well, Adeline. I’ll trust your judgment. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said.

The work would be constant. Addie had very little experience with frills and lace. Her designs tended toward good lines and quality fabrics, not lavish trim and ruffles.

She rose. “I need to run to the falls and find my book. I dropped it yesterday.”

“Very well. Breakfast will be ready in a quarter hour. And do put up your hair and come in shoes.”

Addie hurried from the room. She had to find the book, get back, and finish her toilette in fifteen minutes.

A mother quail and her babies ran through the morning fog across John’s path. He waited for them to pass, brushed aside the towering ferns, and entered the redwood forest. The air smelled heavy with the scent of vegetation and pine. Birds chattered overhead, and insects hummed by his ears. He strode toward where he’d left Miss Sullivan yesterday to see if any evidence of her ordeal remained.

He reached the roaring Mercy Falls and peered through the mist curling around the water. There, the matted grass showed their path back to the manor. He followed the faint trail until it widened into a more flattened area. This must be where she’d been tackled. A burlap sack lay near a tree. He picked it up and caught the scent of oranges. Using his foot, he prodded the vegetation for anything else that might illuminate the incident.

The toe of his shoe struck something in the weeds. He parted the greenery and saw a book on the ground. Miss Sullivan’s book of poetry. When he picked it up, it fell open, and his gaze was drawn to the scrawled words in the margin of a poem called, “A Man’s Requirements.”

John North. What a strong name. I was lost the moment I gazed into his eyes. So dark. So compelling. As if he knew me and I knew him. Is that not strange? Did Elizabeth Barrett Browning feel this pounding in her blood the first time she saw Robert? Must pray and see what God would say about this.

He blinked and read the words again. His first inclination was to laugh at her naïveté. So innocent and childlike. Then he read the words of the poem.

Love me Sweet, with all thou art,
Feeling, thinking, seeing;
Love me in the lightest part,
Love me in full being.
BOOK: The Lightkeeper's Daughter
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