Outside the door Meghan scampered quickly away as she heard footsteps approach the portal, and for the first time that morning a smile touched her face. She had been fearful that her mistress could not hold her own against Mr. Sinclair’s sometimes overbearing nature and, now being of a different mind, admired the spunk of the young woman.
After the argument with Malcolm, Lenore found the sheriff’s interrogation much like a pleasant stroll through a park. He was polite, if somewhat direct. After introducing himself as James Coty, he asked what was her association with the owner of the River Witch and if she thought any of the crew were capable of the murder.
“Mr. Sinclair has no doubt explained my loss of memory to you.” With his verifying nod she continued: “Ashton Wingate believed that I was Lierin, my twin sister, whom he married three years ago. For a time I was also convinced of that. As for the men on the steamer, I have traveled with them, and while I did, they treated me with the utmost respect. I can’t believe they’d abuse a woman in such a manner, but even if they had, they’d have had little time to do so, because I took the dinghy out to the River Witch myself and didn’t return until after four in the morning.” She met his surprised gaze squarely and without shame. “I went out to the steamer with the hope of persuading Mr. Wingate to leave before trouble started between him and my husband. If my word is not enough to convince you, ask the man who had the watch on board the steamer. He might have noticed someone else leaving the craft after we did.”
“You say you didn’t return until after four?” he asked and thoughtfully stroked his chin. “That only makes me wonder when the crime was actually committed. Obviously Mary was killed somewhere else and then dumped into the boat.”
Lenore overcame her reluctance and plucked up her courage to ask, “Can you tell me in what manner Mary was murdered?”
“Strangled,” the sheriff replied bluntly. “The man choked her so hard he broke her neck.”
Recoiling in shuddering revulsion, Lenore sank into a nearby chair and clasped a shaking hand over her brow. Feeling faint and queasy, she could give no more than a nominal reply to the lawman, who assured her that he would not rest until the man was caught. Sheriff Coty took his leave, and listlessly she dragged herself to her bed where she remained for most of the day, too sick to lift her head from the pillow.
The cemetery was small, and even with the green touch of summer, it seemed drab and somehow forlorn. Gowned in black, Lenore felt as if she blended in with her surroundings. Her cheeks were pale, and dark circles made her eyes look that much larger. She waited in the landau with her father until the minister arrived, not willing to subject herself to any unnecessary movement when it was so stifling hot. A few light whiffs of the smelling salts seemed to clear her head and settle her queasiness, enough at least to allow her to leave the safety of the carriage. Solicitously her father escorted her to the graveside where Malcolm was waiting. Carefully avoiding the dark hole where the coffin had been placed, she lifted her gaze to the large knot of mourners who had gathered on the far side and, except for the sheriff and his deputy, found no familiar face among them. Since word had spread swiftly throughout the area, she judged many of these were curiosity seekers and nothing more. Behind the family and somewhat to their right Meghan stood with the coachman, and both added a sorrowful note with their muffled weeping. Lenore glanced back in sympathy to see how the grieving woman was faring and was startled when her gaze swept beyond them and found a short, dark-haired man with liquid eyes.
“Mr. Titch!” She barely breathed his name, but she drew Malcolm’s inquiring regard.
“Did you say something, my dear?” he asked and leaned his head down to receive her reply.
Her nod surreptitiously marked the short man. “I was just a little surprised to see that man over there, that’s all.”
Malcolm turned his head to look over his shoulder and raised a brow in amused condescension. “Ahh, Mr. Titch.”
“Do you know him?” she queried in surprise, unable to remember a time when she had mentioned Mr. Titch or the trouble he had caused.
“Gossips are as abundant in Natchez as in Biloxi or anywhere else, madam. I’ve heard of him, and if Horace has wandered through any of the taverns where your father has been, I’m sure he knows as much about us as anyone here. If you aren’t aware of it, my dear, we’ve become quite the topic around here. Especially with that high-and-mighty Mr. Wingate sitting on our front door….” He paused as his gaze lifted above her head, and the dark eyes hardened and became cold and piercing. “Speak of the devil.”
Lenore glanced around, wondering who had darkened his day so abruptly; then her heart began to race as she saw the one who brightened hers. Ashton! The name filled her mind with sudden pleasure and somehow strengthened her for the task ahead.
A slight twist of those firm lips produced a vague smile, and with gentlemanly manner Ashton tipped his beaver hat to them before his eyes met hers with warm communication. The unspoken words of devotion were there, waiting for her to seize and take close to her heart. She did not let them go to waste, but thoroughly savored them.
Now that he had been discovered by the couple, and he could not peruse them unaware, Ashton strolled to a spot near the end of the grave where he hoped his presence would rub like a burr against the other’s composure. There, he could also watch Lierin…or, as she would have it, Lenore. If he should choose to use that name, it was by no means indicative of any concession he was making, merely a temporary compromise until the truth of her identity could be cleared up. In his heart she was still Lierin, and if the investigation proved him wrong, he would be hard-pressed to bow out gracefully. Whether Lierin or Lenore, he knew he loved the woman herself, for the memories of the past were being overshadowed by the more recent ones they had made together.
Although unobtrusively, Lenore regarded him in return, admiring the fine figure he presented in his coal-gray coat, coal-and-pale-gray-striped cravat, and muted striped trousers of a slightly lighter shade of gray. As always, his shirt was crisp and white, and the boots, showing beneath the long, narrow-fitting trousers, were polished to a glossy black sheen. The summer had darkened his skin until the hazel eyes seemed to sparkle with a light of their own behind their sooty lashes. They put a shine in her own when once again their gaze merged and held.
The small, somber group waited in solemn silence as the minister sprinkled a handful of dirt over the casket and droned the words “Ashes to ashes and dust to dust…”
Lenore reached up a hand to brush away the tears that streamed down her cheeks and swallowed against the sorrow welling up in her chest. A smothered sob came from Meghan before the maid turned to console the coachman, who dissolved into harsh weeping. Robert Somerton reached inside his coat and, pulling out a flask, tipped it to his mouth with quick, short jerks. Malcolm was inattentive to the proceedings, for his stoical regard was centered on Ashton and was only broken when the latter brushed past and moved behind them again. A quick glance over the shoulder assured Malcolm that the other was moving toward Mr. Titch, and if he showed any sign of relaxing, it was in the slight drooping of his heavy shoulders as his tension eased.
“’Morning, Mr. Titch.” Ashton greeted the man with a meager nod; then leaning his head back, he cast an eye toward the gloomy gray heavens as he casually remarked, “An appropriate day for a funeral, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” Horace mumbled, directing a clandestine glance toward the taller man. “A bit hot for my taste, though. Maybe a rain would cool things off.”
“Either that or make it more humid,” Ashton replied pleasantly, noticing the sweat trickling down the other’s round face. He wondered if that was due entirely to the heat, or if something else was stirring up Mr. Titch’s lather. “I was quite surprised to see you here, Horace. Are you visiting relatives?”