The Whisper Of Wings (26 page)

"I did it! It was my duty to my family, and I bore it proudly."

He swept a slow, critical gaze over her. "Yes, it would seem so," he murmured, unable to withhold the sarcasm. She didn't appear to have a proud bone left in her body. In fact, she appeared shrunken, beaten down in spirit, and bitter.

"Some of us aren't as privileged as you, Mr. Standeven," she quipped, affronted by his remark.

"Forgive me. I've had a trying day, and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. I've traveled most of the morning. I don't suppose you would be kind enough to offer me a seat, perhaps a glass of cold tea?"

She stared at him for a long time, then finally moved aside and pushed the screen door open so he could enter. "In there," she muttered in her gravelly, unforgiving voice, pointing toward a small room at the front of the hall.

He thanked her and took a seat on a chair that was much too small for his tall frame, as were all of them.

"I'll have Betsy bring a tray," she said, then left the room.

She reappeared a few minutes later, carrying the tray herself. She set it down on the table between them and took a seat, pouring him a tall glass from an icy pitcher.

"Lazy negro doesn't know to stay in the house for five minutes," she grumbled.

Christopher felt his eyes narrow in agitation at the use of the word negro, but decided not to express his opinion of the woman's slanderous comment. He despised the American term. Always had. It was demeaning and disrespectful of another human being.

"What about the police, Mrs. Dunne?"

She stared at him over the top of her glass.

"Why didn't you make more effort to find your daughter?" he reiterated.

"It was hard enough for me. My husband had just passed on. I had a business to attend to. I hadn't a clue as to the running of it. Fortunately, my daughter's husband has helped a great deal in that regard."

"Your daughter?"

"Louisa. She's been a dear to me these past months." Her voice softened for a brief moment, but then her eyes hardened again, and she clamped her mouth tightly shut as if she had said too much.

Christopher wondered why she had never shown a tiny portion of that softness to Michaela. Perhaps Michaela's aspirations had kept her from it. Maybe Mrs. Dunne was jealous that her youngest daughter might get to do all the things that she'd never done herself.

She rocked a little in her chair—a nervous habit—her eyes shifting back and forth. "I didn't need the added burden of worrying about Michaela. She's always been flighty."

She glanced over at Christopher, who quietly listened as he drank his tea.

"I told the police, but they didn't do much. I didn't care. It was Michaela's decision to leave. What could I do about it but let her go. It was Geoffrey who pushed me. He got nasty about it, informing me that I could be in a lot of trouble, telling me I could lose everything my husband had worked so hard for."

"Fortunately for Michaela, to sacrifice herself to a loveless marriage is no longer her reality," Christopher said.

He watched as Mrs. Dunne's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?" she demanded in her hard voice.

"I imagine you'll be pleased to know that you are free of any debt to Mr. Yelvington."

She frowned all the harder. "What are you getting at?"

"I've paid the debt. Michaela is now free to do as she pleases, and the Dunne family is no longer obligated to Geoffrey Yelvington in any way," Christopher took great pleasure in telling her. Now the woman had no power over Michaela. None whatsoever.

Openly distrusting, Mrs. Dunne stared at him as if she didn't fully believe it. "What do you want from me?"

"Actually, there is one small favor."

"I could have guessed. What's in this for you? Are you sleeping with my daughter?"

Christopher was careful not to let his sudden rage show. He didn't like Mrs. Dunne, or her crude manners. "That is none of your business. But for Michaela's sake, I must assure you that her reputation is sound."

Mrs. Dunne gave a little snort of disbelief. "I find it hard to believe that a man would travel all this way to pay off a debt he didn't owe if he wasn't getting something into the bargain."

"Yes, I expect you wouldn't believe it," he murmured.

Mrs. Dunne ignored his biting remark, still intent on the favor he wanted.

Christopher set his half empty glass of tea on the table between them, his eyes on Mrs. Dunne's face. "I merely want her books. All of them."

Mrs. Dunne looked stunned. "Her books?"

"Yes, that is all I require."

She was speechless for a moment, then, "How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you're not lying about who you are? How do I know you won't steal them and sell them for your own gain?"

Christopher allowed a small smile. "Interesting. You never approved of Michaela's writing, yet now you count her books worthy of theft."

Her face flushed red with anger. "Nonsense!"

"I can pay you for them. Whatever you like."

Her eyes dropped, and she ran her tongue out over her lips. Greed again. Damnable greed. Was there a place on earth that was safe from it?

"You see," Christopher continued. "I only want her books, to take them back to Michaela where they belong. It will be you who gains from the transaction."

Her eyes darted back to his face. "There are bills. Funeral costs. Only for the sake of them."

Indeed! "The price, if you please."

"Thought you already paid for them when you paid off Yelvington."

His eyes narrowed. He liked this woman less and less. "What I do, I do for Michaela. No one else."

"She's your whore. I knew it!"

Christopher lost his temper then, almost got to his feet, and barely managed to force himself not to. "I won't have you slander her that way!" Blast it all, he was furious enough to break something. If he already had the books in his possession, he'd leave this evil place. But he didn't yet, and he wouldn't leave without them. "Michaela is a lady of the highest order, and she shall remain so! Such a prize could never have been borne of your loins!"

Damn, he'd said it now, and there was no taking it back. Curse his unruly temper. What would become of Michaela's novels now? Mrs. Dunne would never give them up after he'd offended her.

"My daughter has been a constant embarrassment to this family," the woman hissed, her eyes full of rage. "Her and her ridiculous dreams! She would never have run off if her father was still alive. He would have thrashed her senseless, and rightly so!"

"I beg to differ with you. I don't believe she deserves that," he ground out, his voice dangerously low. "Mrs. Dunne, your husband was a cruel man."

"Your money can't take away the shame she's caused this household," she shrieked.

Anger brought Christopher out of his chair. He crossed the room and bent down over the woman, a hand on either arm of her chair, literally trapping her there. She tried to shrink away from the venom she saw in his eyes, but the high back of the chair prevented her from going far. To intimidate her even further, Christopher leaned closer.

"Need I search the house myself?"

She didn't say anything, just gave a little whimper of fear.

He lifted his hands off the arms of the chair, then slammed them back down in impatient fury, causing her to jump with fright. "I offered you money, woman! Name your price, or I shall search this house until I find each and every novel myself," he shouted. Good God, he hadn't shouted in years. But this woman made him so angry.

"Please...." she began.

"Name it!" He lowered his voice again until it was a deadly whisper. "I don't need to pay you. As you said, I've already paid for them. Your choice now. Payment, or none. But I will have those books."

"Pay me what you will. I'll get you the books, but then I want you to leave this house!"

"I assure you, madam, it will be my pleasure."

He straightened again to allow her to get up, but was two steps behind her as she hurried out into the hallway screaming for Betsy. He didn't trust her, didn't want her to call the police.

The black woman appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, obviously alarmed at the fear in her employer's voice.

"Betsy! Michaela's books. All of them. Bring them to me."

The black woman ducked her head and hurried down the back hall to the stairs. Christopher waited in the foyer with Mrs. Dunne. The woman wouldn't meet his eyes. Instead, she kept her gaze trained on the stairs, anxious for Betsy to return with the books.

When the black woman finally brought him the stack a few minutes later, he bid her put them in the car outside. She hurried to do as he requested and was back in moments.

"Is that all of them?" he asked, trying not to let his anger be directed at the helpless woman.

She nodded her dark head. "Yassuh."

"The short stories, too?" Mrs. Dunne inquired. "I don't want a scrap of them left here." Her voice was cold now, her eyes dead.

Again the black woman nodded. "Yes, ma'am. It's everythang."

"No copies?" Christopher demanded of Mrs. Dunne.

Michaela's mother shook her head, her expression grim. "You have what you came for. Now get out of my house, and don't ever come back again."

Christopher pressed a wad of bills into the black woman's hands and thanked her for her assistance. Mrs. Dunne looked up in surprise when he pressed a sizeable check into her hands. She didn't look at the amount, just pressed a trembling hand to her lips, her eyes closing for a split second, as if she were ashamed of herself.

"Your daughter is under my protection now. I don't expect to ever hear from you again," Christopher coldly informed her.

She glanced up at him then, and for a moment, he thought he detected a spark of regret in the woman's eyes. But it wasn't enough to make him feel sorry for her. He couldn't forgive her for the way she had treated her daughter.

He was just as eager to leave as Mrs. Dunne was to have him leave. Now he understood everything. He understood why Michaela would have done anything to get out of that house. He'd been there for less than an hour, yet he'd already felt its dark side.

Poor Michaela. What she must have endured. He was glad to save her from ever having to return to this place. Mrs. Dunne had left a rotten taste in his mouth.

It made him think of his son. He would have to remember to assure Gerald that he was free to pursue his own dreams as far as they could take him. He would never be guilty of oppressing the hopes of his own flesh and blood.

He couldn't wait to get back home, back to Michaela. He needed to know that everything was all right. Soon he would have to find a way to tell her that she was a free woman now, free to do whatever she chose.

* * *

Much to Gerald's unhappiness, Michaela chose to dine in the kitchen with Mrs. Avery that evening. She simply couldn't subject herself to the torture of dining with Portia. She felt sorry for leaving Gerald in the lurch, but she just wasn't brave enough to face their guests. Not after what Portia had said that afternoon. She would need to gather her courage to face another onslaught like that one.

Gerald was kind enough not to quibble too much, outside of the initial, almost obligatory argument. But he was far too sympathetic of her plight to be serious about it, and he ended by giving her his blessing.

"I'd join you if I could. But with Father gone, I am the host. I suppose it wouldn't be proper of me."

She smiled and hugged him hard. "Poor Gerald. I feel guilty for sending you into the lion's den alone."

"Don't. After today, you deserve a rest." He made a great show of sighing heavily. "While the lord of the manor performs his duties, the maiden frolics."

She laughed and playfully pinched his arm. "Mrs. Avery will thank you for letting me spend some time with her. I've barely seen her all day."

At the bottom of the stairs, he kissed her cheek and took his leave. She sighed and turned toward the kitchen. At least for an entire evening, she had a reprieve.

Mrs. Avery was delighted that she was joining her, and she shushed any misgivings that Michaela might have about her choice.

"Don't you worry about it for a minute. I'm sure Gerald will give all the proper excuses for you. They don't have to know you're dining in the kitchen." She set a steaming plate before Michaela and took a seat beside her. "Lord, I don't blame you. That Portia has grown into a terrible woman. Poor Mr. Telford. He doesn't deserve it."

"Portia despises me," Michaela murmured, toying with her meal.

Mrs. Avery gave her hand a comforting pat. "Don't fret yourself. Portia doesn't like anyone or anything that gets in her way."

Michaela was contemplative. Mrs. Avery's response gave her a spark of hope. If Portia felt that she was a threat, and Mrs. Avery felt that she was a worthy opponent to the spiteful girl, then....

She forced herself not to think in that direction. She didn't want to set herself up for heartache. During Christopher's absence, she had tried so hard to convince herself that it was just affection, perhaps even gratitude that she felt for him. Of course, she loved him. But that didn't have to mean that she was
in
love with him. She loved Gerald, too. And Mrs. Avery.