The Valentine Legacy (Legacy 3)

When all the facts had been wrung out of all of them, Gordon Dickens stroked his whiskers, stared at Jessie, and said, “I understand that you and James Wyndham are rivals. I always wager on James, but you beat him at least half the time, which surely isn’t the thing to do. I’ve seen you try to shove your horse into him. I’ve seen you kick out at him. I’ve seen him try to ride you into a ditch. You’re enemies. Why would you defend him and threaten Allen Belmonde? Why would you even bother saving that mare? It wasn’t your mare.”

“I like Sweet Susie. She’s a fine mare. I don’t suppose you’ve found the two men who stole her? Or whoever hired those men to steal her?”

He’d been too busy getting married and learning the awesome joys of the marriage bed to pursue the matter, but Gordon Dickens didn’t say that. He thought about how he’d spent the early-morning hours and blushed. He shook a bit. Who cared about a damned horse when Helen was lying there waiting for him, smiling at him, her arms out? “Not yet,” he said, and his voice was as chilly as a Baltimore spring rain. How dare the damned girl question him? “You haven’t answered my questions, Miss Warfield.”

“It didn’t matter that Sweet Susie belonged to Allen Belmonde, who wasn’t a very nice man. I would have tried to save Sweet Susie if she’d belonged to Mortimer Hackey, a truly despicable man. Anyway, Allen Belmonde was annoying everyone, shouting accusations at James—totally unfounded accusations—and I wanted to hit him.”

“Perhaps you shot him instead.”

James, who was leaning his shoulders against the mantel of the fireplace, jerked forward to tower over Gordon Dickens. He pulled him up by his collar out of his chair and shook him. “That is the most ridiculous thing that’s emerged from your mouth. Just look at her—she’s perfectly white with fear. Mind your tongue, or else I’ll mind it for you.”

“See here, James, I’m just doing my job. She did threaten him, she plays at being a man, just perhaps she also uses a gun like a man, and—”

Wanting only to distract James, who he could see was itching to send his fist into Gordon’s jaw, Dr. Hoolahan said quickly, “I don’t suppose you know that Allen Belmonde had once wanted to marry Ursula Wyndham, James’s sister?”

James whipped around, staring at him as if he’d grown an extra ear. “Well, he didn’t marry Ursula, so I had no reason to shoot him. How the devil do you know about that, Dancy?”

“Mr. Belmonde’s wife became ill shortly after they were married. She was also depressed, pale, and on the verge of tears the whole time. She told me that he began avoiding her almost immediately after their marriage, that he’d even called her Ursula several times during moments of, er, affection.”

James turned to stare at Dancy Hoolahan. He released Gordon Dickens, absently brushed his coat front, and gently shoved him back down into his chair. “I told Alice not to marry him,” James said. “He married Alice Stoddert out of spite after Ursula married Giff, hoping to make her jealous I suppose, only it didn’t. He wouldn’t believe she didn’t want him, that she preferred Giff Poppleton. And Alice didn’t believe me either.” He looked Gordon Dickens straight in the face. “You will contrive to keep all this behind your teeth, Gordon. All of it, do you understand? And you as well, Dancy, and yes, I well understand why you dug it up and spit it out when you did. Well, I’m under control now and I won’t throttle Gordon, at least in the next five minutes. Remember—all of you—that none of this has anything to do with Belmonde’s murder.”

Gordon Dickens fiddled with his cravat. “I must do my duty. However, I agree with you, James, that none of this seems to have any bearing on Belmonde’s unfortunate death.”

Jessie said, “Who do you think killed Mr. Belmonde, James?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea. As you said, Jessie, he wasn’t a particularly nice man. Listen, Gordon, Allen Belmonde had two business partners. There was probably a good deal of strife among the three of them. Have you looked into that?”

“Oh, yes. They all hated one another. They accused one another of villainy, of embezzlement, of cheating.” Gordon Dickens rose, looking gloomy. “This is a proper mess. I was hoping that one of you would be guilty. It would have made things so much simpler.”

“Why, thank you, Gordon,” Dancy Hoolahan said.

“There’s the horse racing,” Oslow said. “Mr. Belmonde made bets at the racetracks, big ones, I heard, and he didn’t always pay up when he lost. There’re also rumors that he was responsible for poisoning Rainbow—a four-year-old thoroughbred whose sire was Bellerton and whose dam was the Medley mare—at last year’s Baltimore Plate. The horse he backed won, so he also won, a lot of money. All unproved of course.”

“Everything is unproved,” Gordon Dickens said, and sighed. “The world is unproved.” He sighed again as he rose. He straightened his waistcoat. It was loose. He’d lost weight. It felt good. He knew it was from all the unaccustomed activity he was getting at night and in the early mornings. “Dam

n Belmonde’s eyes,” he said, looking at everyone with gloomy irritation. “Why couldn’t he have just ridden off that cliff over at Miller’s Jump? That way I could have called it an accident, and that would have been the end of it.”

Mrs. Wilhelmina Wyndham had a firm hold on her son’s arm. “Whoever is visiting poor Alice? You will get rid of who it is, James. We are here now and thus the only ones who should be offering sympathy to the poor girl. Some folks have the manners of rodents.”

James had ridden to the Belmonde town house on St. Paul Street, to offer Alice whatever support he could. And here was his mother, just emerging from the landau he’d bought for her three years before. “Ah, my dearest boy,” she’d said, allowed him to assist her to the ground, and took hold of his arm.

“Did you tell Alice you were coming to visit her?”

“Certainly not, but that doesn’t matter. Go see to it, James.”

He just smiled down at his mother, knowing nothing short of a hurricane could ever dissuade her from anything. Maybe not even a hurricane.

Her visitors were Glenda and Jessie Warfield.

A thin woman with stooped shoulders ushered them to the large Belmonde parlor. Glenda was prettily arranged on the settee wearing a pale yellow muslin gown. Jessie was standing beside Alice, with her hand on the widow’s bowed shoulder. She was wearing another of her sister’s castaways, a pale gray wool that made her look like a young nun trying on the mother superior’s habit. Like the other gown, this one was too short and too big in the bosom. James heard her say, “Alice, Mrs. Partridge has told me that you’ve scarcely eaten at all. Come now, here are some fresh scones. Shall I spread some butter and strawberry jam on one for you?”

Alice gave her a helpless look that made James want to enfold her in his arms and pat her. He expected that most people reacted to Alice like that. But evidently not Jessie. She floored him, saying “Now this is quite enough, Alice. You’re going to eat the scone or I’ll stuff it down your throat.”

That brought a smile to Alice’s pale lips. Her frail shoulders even lifted a bit. She looked up when Mrs. Partridge cleared her throat.

“Oh, Mrs. Wyndham! James. Do come in.” Alice leaped to her feet, and Jessie knew why. Everyone leaped to their feet when Mrs. Wilhelmina Wyndham came within striking distance. The lady scared her to death. In the past, she’d easily managed to avoid her, but not today. There was no escape from her today.

Wilhelmina looked at Alice, who had two hectic red spots on her pale cheeks, and said, “You have grieved for three days, Alice. Allen Belmonde deserves no more than three days of having you wilt around not eating. It is the shock of finding him that has prostrated you, not your loss. Now, I would like a cup of tea and one of those fresh scones Jessie was talking about.”