Lethal Legend (4 page)

As she watched the
Miss Min
leave the wharf, Diana stewed over this setback to her plans. Bucksport’s steamboat dock was right next to the railroad depot. She could go back to Bangor on the 9:40 train and make the trip to Bucksport all over again at two in the afternoon, but she did not particularly want to return to the city. Still, it was not yet nine o’clock in the morning and she could scarcely wander aimlessly along the riverfront for the rest of the day.

Bucksport was a pretty little town, with its white clapboard houses and brick bank and library rising on a gentle slope. The buildings of what looked like a seminary stood out in stark relief against the sky on the summit of a hill. Thinking to find someplace better to wait, perhaps a respectable hotel, Diana set off on foot to explore. A few minutes walking revealed a monument of Scotch granite to the Union dead and at least four churches.

When she encountered a matron wheeling a baby carriage, Diana inquired about hotels and was told that the Robinson House had been operating as an inn for more than sixty-five years.

“Are you alone, miss?” The woman’s nose twitched with suspicion.

“I’ve been ... delayed in meeting someone.”

The woman eyed Diana’s gripsack. Disapproval creased an otherwise pleasant countenance into an unappealing expression.

Diana sighed. She’d forgotten how straitlaced small towns could be. “Perhaps I will just wait at the depot.” There was still time to catch the train.

The baby’s fussing distracted its mother. “Perhaps you’d best,” she said, clearly dismissing Diana from her thoughts as she bent to tend to the infant.

She walked back to the dock at a fast clip. By the time she got there, the
Miss Min
was no more than a speck in the distance, indistinguishable from other vessels, and it would not be returning for hours yet.

Waiting, doing nothing more productive than twiddling her thumbs, did not sit well with Diana. “You there,” she called, addressing an old man mending a fishing net. “Where can I find a boat to hire?”

Repeated inquiries along the fringe of shoreline, where shipbuilders, carriage makers, stonemasons, and carpenters plied their trades, eventually led her to a fifteen-year-old boy with a sailboat just big enough to hold two people. For a fee—half the money Diana had brought with her—young Caleb Reed agreed to take her to Keep Island. Diana didn’t give herself time to change her mind. Somewhat awkwardly, she climbed into the small craft and they were on their way.

“Is it a good day for sailing?” she asked as he headed out into the channel.

“Finest kind.”

Diana knew nothing of sailboats, although she thought one steered with something called a “tiller,” but she had sense enough to hang on to her hat with one hand and edge of her seat with the other when Caleb performed a practiced maneuver to avoid running into a buoy. For a terrifying moment before it righted itself, the small craft seemed to Diana to be on the verge of flipping over.

“Why was that in our way?” she asked when she’d caught her breath. To her mind, the buoy appeared to be more hazard than aid to navigation.

“Marks a sawdust bar.” At her blank look, he added, “They build up in the river from all the ships that sail past here loaded with lumber from the saw mills in Bangor.”

Diana frowned. “The Penobscot seems too narrow here for much traffic.”

Caleb chuckled and jerked his head to indicate that she should look behind her at what she’d assumed was the opposite shore. “That there’s an island. See up on that rise?” He pointed to the higher ground beyond and the formidable structure that surmounted it. “That there’s Fort Knox. That’s where the far side of the river is.”

The way widened quickly and soon spilled out into Penobscot Bay. As land on both sides slipped farther and farther away, Diana became increasingly uneasy. “Must we stray so far from land?”

“Can’t swim, eh?”

She felt herself pale. “No.”

“Me, neither.” The cheerful unconcern in his voice was not reassuring.

The open water was dotted with sails, both white and gray, and the smokestacks of steamers great and small. To take her mind off how tiny Caleb’s sailboat was, she asked if all the islands were inhabited.

“Some yes, some no. My uncle says there are over 500 of them in Penobscot Bay. Little ones only a half acre in size. One big enough to hold two whole towns.”

“And Keep Island?”

“I expect that’s one of the littler ones.”

At the note of doubt in his voice, Diana’s eyes narrowed. “You
do
know where you’re going?”

“Don’t you worry. I sailed past it once before on the way to Rockport. Uncle Ralph pointed it out as being Mr. Somener’s island. Didn’t pay it much mind back then, but I reckon I can find it again easy enough.”

The wake from a passing steamer set the small sailboat to rocking with a violent motion that had Diana’s heart, and the remains of her breakfast, lodging in her throat. Water sloshed into the small craft as it tilted at a precarious angle, soaking her feet and spattering the rest of her with icy droplets.

“Why is the water so cold?” she gasped. “It is June!”

“Come August, it might be warmed up a bit. Not before.”

Wet and miserable—the brisk breeze propelling the sailboat toward its destination cut right through her garments, right through her skin, chilling her to the bone—Diana lapsed into silence. Caleb seemed confident. He was a native of these parts. She’d just have to trust he could get her where she was going.

Ten minutes later, to take her mind of her chattering teeth, Diana asked another question: “Do you know anything about the man who owns Keep Island?”

“Rolling in money. Owns the
Miss Min
. Cap’n Cobb says he pays a bonus every time he wants her schedule changed.”

That explained Cobb’s refusal to go against orders. She supposed she couldn’t fault him ... unless he was in league with the criminals Mr. Palmer had mentioned. Diana tried unsuccessfully to picture the stubbornly polite captain as a smuggler. She thought that if he grew a full beard, he might fit the popular image of a pirate, but that stretched the imagination even further.

“What about the island itself? 

Caleb shrugged. “Heard it had a curse on it.”

“What kind of curse?” Hadn’t Maggie mentioned someone cursing Jedediah Somener?

“Don’t know. ‘Keep away from Keep Island.’ That’s all they say.”

“You might have mentioned that before we set out.”

“Don’t put much stock in such foolishness. Besides, you offered to pay.”

And the price, Diana thought cynically, might have been even higher if Caleb had remembered this “curse” in time. If Caleb hadn’t just invented it for her benefit, then Graham Somener’s desire for privacy was probably behind “Keep away from Keep Island.” She smiled in spite of her acute discomfort. It sounded more like an advertizing slogan than a threat.   

Her smile vanished and her thoughts scattered as the tiny craft suddenly dipped and shook. The wind tried to tug Diana’s hat right off her head and the waves peppered her with a fine, cold spray.

“Fine day for a sail,” Caleb declared.

Diana decided she’d hate to see a poor one.

After what seemed an eternity, they arrived at what Caleb claimed was Keep Island. By then, the hem of Diana’s skirt was drenched, most of the pins had been shaken loose from her hair, and the tip of her nose had turned bright pink from exposure to the sun and wind. Although her hat was made of sturdy straw, the brim was not quite wide enough to protect her face from the elements.

On shaky limbs, she clambered out of the sailboat, so grateful to be on solid ground again that she gave Caleb a generous tip.

“You want me to come back for you?”

“No!” One by one she pushed the hairpins back into place, but without a mirror she had no idea whether or not she’d made a neat job of it. “No,” she said again in a calmer voice. “There’s no need to return.” Captain Cobb might not have agreed to bring her to Keep Island, but she was certain he would not object to taking her off.

She watched until the sailboat was well on its way back to Bucksport, then picked up a decidedly damp gripsack and trudged inland along what appeared to be a rough path. Her goal was a flight of wooden steps leading to the top of a low cliff.

Although it gave evidence of being regularly used, the way was uneven. When Diana’s foot came down wrong, an ominous popping sound reminded her that she had to be careful of the ankle she’d twisted back in March. She worried that if the surface didn’t level out soon, she’d end up in an undignified heap and heartily wished she had left off her corset and worn her rationals instead of packing them. Unless she wanted to hide behind a rock to change her clothes, however, it was far too late to do anything about her attire.  She kept going.

Diana stopped at the foot of the steps, shading her eyes against the sun as she looked up. Somewhere above, out of sight of her present location, was Graham Somener’s hideaway and, she hoped, her elusive fiancé. Since there did not seem to be any other way to reach him, she would have to make the climb.

Pausing only long enough to shake sand off her hem, she juggled her gripsack so that she could use the same hand to lift her skirt above her ankles. Keeping a tight hold on the railing with the other, she gritted her teeth and began the ascent. She had no head for heights but she told herself she would be all right so long as she did not look down.

Halfway up, when Diana paused to catch her breath, she let her gaze leave the landing at the top of the stairs and scan the rest of the height of land. A little gasp escaped her as she caught sight of a man silhouetted above her and to the right. He was looking out at the water, not down at her, and for that Diana was grateful. She could not see him clearly, but she could tell he was a large, muscular fellow ... and that he carried a rifle.

She remained motionless for several minutes after he disappeared from view, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears that she was certain the sound must echo off the cliff. That Graham Somener had at least one armed guard alarmed her. Yes, he was wealthy. Yes, the rich and famous sometimes needed protection. But this was an island in rural Maine. What possible danger could Somener need to be guarded from here? The obvious answer was that Justus Palmer was right. Keep Island was being used for illegal activities.

All the way to Bucksport on the train, she’d been plagued by second thoughts. Palmer’s warnings had raised grave doubts in her mind about Ben’s host. To be blamed for loss of life, whether Graham Somener had been responsible or not, must change a man. Was he the same person Ben had known in his youth? Or had he altered so completely as to become a villain?

Maggie Northcote, surprisingly, had encouraged Diana to go to Keep Island and tell Ben everything Palmer had said. She insisted the Someners were good people. “Salt of the earth,” she’d said, predicting this would all turn out to be “a tempest in a teapot.” Diana could only hope she was right.

With renewed determination, she resumed her climb. Ben was up there, on top of the cliff. For all she knew, he was in mortal danger.

  Already short of breath by the time she crested the stairs, the sight that met her eyes momentarily took what was left of it away. A spacious mansion sprawled before her, venerable but well-maintained. The white paint gleamed in the sun and flowers bloomed in profusion in a series of well-tended beds. Here the smell of the sea was tempered by their fragrance ... and with the faint scent of wild strawberries.

Although a half dozen gardeners could find employment on grounds like these, Diana saw no sign of life as she made her way up a flagstone walk and a set of stone steps that ended at a terrace-sized front porch. She was relieved, she told herself. She did not want to encounter a guard.

In an automatic gesture, she went to tug her jacket straight and smooth the folds of her skirt. The damp, gritty feel of the fabric had her looking down at herself in dismay. The exertion of the climb and the warmth of the day had plastered the dark red fabric to her bosom. Her skirt, already wet from the ride in a small, open boat, had acquired a layer of salt spray and sand. She lifted a hand to her hair and discovered that her pins had come loose again, allowing damp tendrils to escape what had once been a neat coil at her nape. A shipwreck survivor would probably look more presentable.

Diana made what repairs she could, squared her shoulders, and reached for the ornate lion’s-head knocker at the center of the front door. Made of solid brass, it appeared to be growling a warning. Diana had to summon considerable willpower and no small amount of muscle in order to lift the ominous-looking thing. It felt cold to the touch and fell back onto the wood with a resounding thump.

Nothing happened.

She repeated the effort several times, stopping in between to listen for any hint of activity within the house. The thickness of the oak masked any footfalls. She tried turning the knob but the door was locked.

  Reluctant to leave cover, she lingered on the porch, but she knew she’d have to venture out of its shelter sooner or later. With extreme caution, alert for any sound that might indicate the presence of armed men, Diana made her way around the side of the house. She kept as close to the wall as she could, given the presence of a variety of flowering bushes.

At first she heard nothing but a gentle breeze ruffling the leaves and the occasional raucous call of a gull, but as she approached the rear of the mansion, she became aware of an odd ringing sound. Metal on metal, she thought, and her imagination called up the image of a hammer and anvil. Puzzled, she stopped at the corner of the house. Uncertain what she would find, Diana first glanced over her shoulder, then edged forward until she could peer beyond the end of the shrubbery.

She gasped at the sight that met her startled gaze. That clashing sound was steel striking steel. Two men armed with rapiers thrust and parried their way across an expanse of green lawn. Blinding sunlight glanced off their blades, making it difficult for her to see exactly what was happening, but the little she could make out filled her with a terrible fear. One of the men was Ben, and as she watched he stumbled and lost his grip on his weapon.