The Valentine Legacy (Legacy 3)

“Hello, James. Do you want to waltz with me again? I would like that. You’re so graceful and—”

“Be quiet. I don’t want to dance with you. I want to strangle you. Come with me to the garden.”

“Oh dear, is Mortimer Hackey here? I didn’t bring my pistol, James. I’m sorry. I forgot. Are you certain you want to go to the garden?”

He ground his teeth, took her hand in his, and pulled her across to the long bank of French doors that gave onto a balcony with steps down into the garden. “We’ll stay up here. I don’t know what you’d do if you got near that tree again.”

/> “I’d probably climb it again so I could fall on you. Now that I know what I could have done that first time, I’d like to try it again. Why are you frowning? What on earth is the matter with you?”

He took her shoulders in his hands and shook her, but not too hard because he didn’t want her to turn green and heave up her dinner. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you about what? What are you talking about, James? I saw you speaking with Alice and Compton and Giff and ever so many other people. What do you mean?”

“Giff told me that Gordon Dickens, the magistrate—”

“I know very well who Gordon is. Other than pompous and an idiot, he’s got a father who managed to get him appointed as magistrate, truly a jest and—”

“It turns out that old Gordon heard from an informant that Allen had hired a man to run you down. Run you down how? When did someone try to run you down?”

“Oh, that.” She had the gall to shrug. “If the truth be told, I’d forgotten it. I’m not so sure now that that man wanted to kill me. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he wanted to mow Compton down. Now you say that Allen was behind it? That’s surely odd and difficult to believe.”

“What happened, Jessie?”

“It was last winter, James—well, late March actually. I was walking down Pratt Street, not paying much attention because I’d just seen Connie Maxwell and I knew she was your lover, well, never mind that. I went into Compton Fielding’s bookstore and bought a book. He walked me out to the sidewalk. Then, with no warning, this man driving an empty wagon, two horses pulling it, came right at me. He very nearly got me, too. If it hadn’t been for Compton Fielding, I fear I might have met my maker.”

“What did Compton do?”

“He grabbed me by the seat of my pants and yanked me through the door of his bookshop. The man drove the wagon within a whisker of the bookshop entrance. Fielding didn’t think it could have been an accident. The man whipped up the horses and was out of sight in seconds. Actually, what I remember most vividly is being furious because he was mistreating those horses. Neither Compton nor I recognized the driver or the horses. Actually Mr. Fielding couldn’t recognize any horse—he thinks they all look alike—but I could, and I didn’t. A good dozen people witnessed everything, but none of them remembered anything helpful.”

“Why the hell didn’t Compton tell me?”

“Why would he, James? Why would he ever think you were even interested?”

“He bloody well should have realized I’d be interested. He should have told me, damn his eyes. Did you recognize anything about the man?”

“No. My father sent a servant to fetch Gordon, and he came out to the farm. He treated me as if I were a moron. I imagine he would have thought I was making up the whole incident if it hadn’t been for Mr. Fielding and all those other people. He told my father it was probably some man I’d beaten in a horse race. He then added that the provocation was great, for what man would tolerate being beaten by a girl?”

“Jessie, tell me about that damned man who was driving the wagon.”

“He was wearing a handkerchief over half his face. His eyes were dark, I do remember that, and he had very black bushy eyebrows. He was wearing an old black hat pulled down to those eyebrows. Work clothes. Nothing else, really.”

“You told this to Gordon?”

She nodded. “Allen Belmonde wanted to kill me? That’s impossible. There’s no reason. Besides, I’m not certain that the man was trying to kill me. Maybe he was after Compton. James, would you like to go walking in the garden?”

“What? Oh no, Jessie. I’ve got to speak to Compton.”

She gave him a forlorn look. “You don’t want to dance with me?”

“No. Dance with Giff or Marcus. Have you been the object of any other attacks, or was that the only time?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing.”

James rested his elbows on the stone railing that lined the balcony. “That makes sense, doesn’t it? If Allen was behind it, any attempts on your life would have stopped with his death. Think, Jessie. Why would Allen Belmonde want you dead?”

She just kept shaking her head. “I was good friends with Alice. Perhaps he didn’t approve of that, but that isn’t enough to push a man to murder, is it?”

“Belmonde was always a bloody ass.”