Dark Angel (Casteel 2)

I was still weak, pale, and trembling when Logan let me out in front of Winnerrow's only hotel, and in another rented room I changed into fresh clothes before I made my long-distance call to Troy. Troy didn't answer the telephone in his cottage. I grew nervous and faint waiting for him to respond. I hung up and dialed another number. This time one of the servants at Farthinggale Manor answered.

"Yes, Miss Casteel, I'll tell Mr. Troy that you called. He's out for the day."

Unsettled and disconcerted to think Troy wasn't where he should be, I used the elevator again, to find Logan waiting in the hotel lobby for me. He rose politely when I advanced, but didn't smile. "What can I do for you now?"

My hands rose to my forehead. I had four hours before my flight left for Boston.

"Reverend Wise, I have to see him. But I can make it there on my own." My eyes lowered to study his hands while I began my apology. "I'm sorry I was ugly acting. I thank you for helping me, Logan. I wish you all sorts of happiness. You don't need to do anything else for me. From now on take care of myself."

For the longest time I felt his eyes on my face, as if trying to read my mind. Then, not responding with words, he took my arm and led me to his parked car, and while we were on our slow way, he tried to answer my question.

"Does Pa come often to visit Grandpa?"

"I think he comes when he can."

Logan didn't say another word until he let me out on Main Street, directly in front of the parsonage, where the Reverend Wayland Wise lived with his wife, and infant daughter.

"Thank you again," I said stiffly. "But you don't have to wait."

"Who is going to carry your bags and put them in your rented car . . . if you still have a rented car?" he asked with irony.

So he waited, insisting on doing that, and I tried not to stumble or wobble as I made my way up the walkway recently swept free of all storm debris. Once I had reached the high porch, I turned to see Logan waiting patiently, his head slightly bowed, as if he'd fallen asleep behind the wheel from the fatigue of waiting on me night and day.

And as I stood there and waited for someone to respond to my knock, a terrible anger washed over me, erasing my weakness and giving me sudden strength.

The Reverend and his wife had no right to steal Fanny's baby! He had seduced Fanny when she was just a child, a minor! Fourteen years old. Statutory rape!

Yes, I was here to bring into the family fold at least one child to replace the two I'd lost. Though I doubted very much that Fanny should be the one to raise the child.

It was Rosalynn Wise herself who came to respond to my sharp raps on her door. She scowled to see me, though surprise didn't show in her eyes. It was as if she knew from my visit to the church eight days ago that sooner or later I'd show up. As usual, she wore a dark, unflattering dress that succeeded admirably in making her look like a stick wearing clothes.

"We have nothing to say to you," she said in greeting. "Kindly take yourself off our porch and don't come back."

And like Fanny had in the past, she prepared to slam the door in my face, but I was ready this time. Stepping forward I shoved her aside and entered the house. "You have a great deal of explaining to do," I said in my coldest sharpest tone. (I'd learned a great deal in Boston on how to act imperious.) "Take me to your husband."

"He's not here."

She moved to keep me from going farther. "You get out! You and your sister have caused enough trouble." Her long, lean face took on the pious air of those in contact with filth.

"Oh, so now you admit Fanny is my sister

. How interesting. Whatever happened to Louisa Wise?"

"Who was that at the front door?" called the Reverend in the kind of ordinary voice he must reserve for at-home use.

His voice led me to his study, where the door was partially open, and I stepped inside, despite all his wife did to prevent this. Now that I was confronting the most influential man in Winnerrow, I longed for stronger health, for all the words I'd had ready to say before fever came and stole them from my memory.

Half-rising from his chair, "Waysie" Wise smiled in a pleasant way, and that left me at a loss. I'd come expecting to catch them both at a disadvantage. It wasn't quite ten o'clock. Yet she was dressed, and so was he. The. only concession he gave to at-home comfort were black velvet house slippers lined with red satin. For some odd reason those exotic, elegant slippers threw me.

"Aha!" he said, rubbing his dry palms together, his full, handsome face taking on a blank, smooth look. "I do believe it's one of my sheep coming to be embraced, at last, into the fold." He couldn't have found better words to restore my fighting ego. As if I'd been born for this day I felt a rising sense of justification and satisfaction to have a good reason for telling him my opinion of what he was. He seated himself again in his high-backed, comfortable chair before the fireplace where fake flowers took the place of the grate. With care he chose a cigar from a brass box lined with red cedar that was near his chair; he snipped off the end, checked it over with scrutinizing eyes, and only then did he light it. All this time I was left standing.

Obviously they weren't going to invite me to sit down. I strode forward and selected the twin to his chair and sat. I crossed my legs and watched his eyes as they traveled over my legs, which Troy had told me many times were very shapely. My shoes were brand new.

Lazily, the Reverend's dark, sloe eyes looked me over. Smoldering interest thrived deep in those eyes, and gradually it drifted to the forefront and forced him to smile disarmingly. A smile so sweet it was no wonder someone as naive as Fanny had been taken in. Even up close he was a very good-looking man. He had good features, a clear complexion, and robust good health that made his ruddy skin glow. His extra pounds were just beginning to hint at middle age, though later I suspected he'd go from paunchy immediately to obesity.

"Yesss . . . I do believe I've seen you before," he said in a throaty, flattering way, "though forgetting the name of such a lovely girl is simply not my way, absolutely not my way."

When I'd entered this house, I hadn't the foggiest idea of how to approach him, but his very words had given me exactly the impetus I needed. He was afraid. He'd hide behind a guise of innocence.