Читать книгу The Gunslinger and the Heiress - Kathryn Albright - Страница 9

Chapter One

Five years later

“I’m sorry, miss. I’ll need payment up front for that.”

Hannah stared at the thin, pimply-faced boy behind the counter for a full ten seconds. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking at any corner of the Cigar Emporium rather than back at her. He was new and hopelessly awkward in his new position. “You must be mistaken,” she said, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“No mistake. I’ll lose my job if I extend more credit.”

She stiffened, at the same time glancing over her shoulder to make sure no customers had heard. Across the room two men stood before a display of chewing tobacco and debated the merits of the three different brands. They appeared unaware of her situation, and she’d like to keep it that way. Only moments before she’d been thinking how she enjoyed the fragrance of the cherrywood tobacco that permeated the small shop as a respite from the brine-laden air outside. Now she could barely think through her embarrassment.

Forcing a calm demeanor, she asked, “Is this a new policy? If so, I’m sure it doesn’t pertain to my family.” She pushed the hand-carved ivory pipe across the counter. “Please. I’d like it wrapped.”

Still the boy hesitated, wiping his hands on his white apron.

“You do know who I am?”

He gulped audibly and fidgeted with the corners of the massive account book in front of him. “Yes, Miss Lansing. Your family has done business here for years.”

“And half of the items in this shop arrived here by way of my grandfather’s ships.” She softened her voice. “This pipe is for his birthday. You wouldn’t deny him his present, would you?”

“I...I... Your total has reached the limit.”

“My grandfather pays the bill monthly. There must be a mistake.” The ledger would prove her point. She reached for it to see for herself when a beefy hand splayed over the page, blocking her view.

“I’ll take it from here, Toby. Go see to the other customers.” The shop’s owner, Mr. O’Connell, a heavyset Irish man with a handlebar mustache, turned the book back toward himself as the new clerk scurried away with a look of relief on his young face. “Can’t have my other customers’ tabs becoming general knowledge, now, can I? I’m sure, given your family’s business, you understand, Miss Lansing.”

What he implied stung. She wasn’t one to manipulate such knowledge to her own advantage, though she knew those who would. She was only interested in the accounting of the Lansing total.

The two customers had stopped their discussion and listened intently now. Good gracious, but this was getting uncomfortable! Her cheeks heated. She never carried much money on her. According to Grandfather, it was unladylike. There had never been any problems in the past with putting items on a tab. Her gloved hands shook slightly as she loosened the blue ribbon cinching her purse and counted out enough money to cover a deposit on the pipe. “In the first place, I hadn’t planned to have my grandfather pay for his own present, but it quite takes me by surprise that you won’t extend credit to me. I shall return tomorrow with the rest. Good day, Mr. O’Connell.” She made a stiff-backed, dignified exit—a Lansing exit. Grandfather would be proud—she hoped.

Once outside she stopped and took a deep breath, allowing a moment for her cheeks to cool and to put up her umbrella against the light rain. Down the wet street, her carriage waited. She had planned to stop at the milliners to check the designs for a new spring bonnet, but now she was uncertain. Would she run into the same predicament there as she had at the tobacco shop? Perhaps it would be best to first speak with Grandfather.

“Please, take me home,” she instructed her driver when she arrived at the carriage. He jumped down from his seat and assisted her inside the conveyance. Only then, obscured by the dark velvet curtains from the curious stares of the few people who had ventured out in this weather, did she sink back into the plush cushions and consider what had just occurred.

It had to be a mistake. Grandfather was always punctual in paying his bills to the point of being regimental. For as long as she could remember, there had been plenty of funds from the shipping enterprise to cover incidentals whenever she’d wanted anything. Perhaps, with Stuart away, Grandfather needed a hand with the business. It couldn’t be easy keeping track of everything with all that he had to do.

The carriage jolted into motion, but she paid no attention to the tree-lined city parading by. Absently she tugged on the pendant at her breast. Ever since Grandmother Rose had passed on, Grandfather had been happy to have her run the household. Although she was now proficient at throwing dinner parties and carrying on the conversation with business associates, Grandfather had maintained that the shipping business was a man’s task. In the past five years he’d expanded it—adding two more ships. Had it become too much for him to oversee without an assistant?

The trip from the shopping district to the Lansing estate on Nob Hill took a matter of minutes. Once there, she hurried up the wide marble stairs and through the massive front door. The faint scent of lemon polish reached her as she deposited her cloak and umbrella into Edward’s waiting arms. “Grandfather?”

“In his study, miss.”

She headed down the hallway, untying her bonnet as she walked. The sound of her footsteps on the tiles echoed off the high ceiling and walls.

“Grandfather? We need to talk—”

His room was empty.

She sighed in frustration, spun around to search farther down the hall and then stopped herself. Something wasn’t right. She turned back to the study. Papers and notes were scattered askew over Grandfather’s massive desk. Totally unlike him. Neatness and order ruled Dorian Lansing and everything around him. He controlled his estate in the same manner he had once, as a young man of twenty-two, controlled his first ship—or so she’d been informed.

She hesitated in the doorway. Slowly, eerily, a moan issued, the sound coming from behind the dark Victorian desk. Her breath hitched in her chest. She ran to the far side of the furniture and found him lying prostrate on the parquet floor, his face pasty white.

“Grandfather!” she cried out, kneeling beside him. In the next breath she screamed, “Edward! Come, quick!”

* * *

A significant stroke, the doctor said. Upon hearing it, Hannah’s heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. Grandfather would need constant care and rest if he was to recover. After seeing the family’s personal physician out, Hannah called the house staff together in the kitchen.

“Where is Tan Ling?” she asked. “She should hear this, too.”

“Mr. Lansing discharged her last week, miss,” Edward explained.

“Oh,” she said, confused. Grandfather had neglected to tell her. Then she grew irritated. She should have been informed. After all, she was in charge of the household staff. It was her job to do the hiring and discharging. Tan Ling had been with the Lansings for the past three years. What of the letters of recommendation the young woman would need to find new employment? Had Grandfather considered them? Besides, more than any paperwork, she would have liked to have said goodbye.

She looked over the expectant loyal faces of those before her. “Mr. Lansing has taken ill and will require special care. A nurse will be attending him over the next few weeks while he recovers.” If he recovers, she thought to herself, and then quickly pushed the traitorous idea from her mind. He had to get well. He just had to. “Please make her welcome when she arrives.”

A burning sensation threatened behind her eyes. “This illness will be especially hard on Grandfather. He’s...he’s weak on his right side and unable to get out of bed. I’m sure you know how independent he has been.”

Looks passed between the staff.

Hannah understood their trepidation. Dorian wasn’t known for his patience or temperate disposition when he was in good health. What would the household be like now?

“That is all. Except, Edward? A word, please.”

Hannah waited for the others to take their leave, and then turned to the butler. He had been a sailor on one of Grandfather’s ships before coming to work at the estate. He’d been with Grandfather the longest and was a man she knew would answer honestly.

“What happened with Tan Ling? Was there an infraction of the rules?”

“No, miss.”

“What, then?”

He paused, a discomfited look passing over his usually austere face.

“I have known you many years, Edward. Please, speak freely. I know you are cognizant of a great many things within the household and keep them to yourself.”

“Very well, then.” His brow furrowed as he chose his words. “I believe Mr. Lansing was concerned with conserving costs. The loss of his ships—”

Ships lost? She schooled her face to remain impassive. “Obviously it is worse than he confided to me.”

Edward exhaled, believing her ruse that she was in her grandfather’s confidence. “I believe so.”

* * *

For the next three days, Hannah studied the Lansing Enterprises ledgers until numbers and cargo listings were leaking from her ears. Foul weather had claimed two of their largest cargos, not to mention the two ships, sinking both to the bottom of the sea. They had but one ship left—an older one that was in dry dock for repairs.

No matter how hard she stared at the figures, she couldn’t come up with additional income. The majority of the balances had a minus before them. She longed to discuss it with Grandfather, but the doctor had said that any added stress might cause him to suffer a relapse. He was to be kept as calm as possible. She mustn’t burden him with business.

Shuffling through the layers of letters and bills, she categorized them from most pressing to least—the most being a legal document from San Diego regarding the shipment of furniture and supplies to the Hotel Del Coronado, an establishment that was to rival the Palace in San Francisco. Apparently upon hearing of the downed ships, the owners had sent an immediate claim demanding compensation. She frowned. How considerate of them when Grandfather’s health hung in the balance. Some things were more important than their gold-rimmed tea sets. She dropped the offending papers on the desk and then checked the time on the cabinet clock. Nearly noon. Perhaps his tray was ready. She rose to her feet and found Nina in the kitchen assembling Grandfather’s lunch. “I’ll take it to him,” she said, picking up the tray laden with warm, mashed apples and cinnamon, a thin slice of cheese and clam chowder soup. “I’d welcome a respite.”

“You’ll be sick yourself if you don’t rest a bit, Miss Lansing. You must take care. You can’t solve everything in a day as much as you try.”

“Thank you, Nina.” She scooted out of the room. Nina would talk forever if given the chance. Her conversation was at times comforting, but right now Hannah needed solutions, not chatter.

She climbed the stairs and entered Grandfather’s room. Upon seeing him sitting up in bed, surrounded by plumped pillows, she stopped short, nearly dropping the tray. “You’re sitting up!”

A gruff “Harrumph” punctuated the expectant pause following her words. He had no patience for people who stated the obvious. Quickly she handed the tray off to the nurse and hurried to his bedside.

“Are you well enough to do this?” she asked, worried that the strain might be more than he could handle.

He held his left hand out to her, and she moved to take it, letting him draw her to his side. She sat on the edge of the mattress and expelled a shaky breath. “You...you are stronger today?”

At his nod, she motioned to the nurse, who rose and stepped from the room. Hannah had made it a point to help Grandfather daily with his meals. So far, she’d managed to keep from pouring out her worries, but today would be doubly hard. The company lawyer had dropped by with a large packet, and the post had just arrived full of overdue bills.

She spread the linen napkin over his chest and scooped up a spoonful of soup. When she raised it to his lips, his gaze met hers.

“Whas wong?” he said, his words slurred.

Her smile was forced. “Hungry myself, that’s all.” She scooped up another spoonful, but he clamped his mouth shut.

“Whas wong?” he repeated and pointed to the lap of her skirt where she’d worried the fabric into a wrinkled mess.

She sighed. She’d never been able to get away with anything with him. He could read people—her especially. The talent had made him a keen businessman—that and his innate stubbornness. People didn’t call him Old Ironhead for no reason. He nearly always got his way. Perhaps it would be smarter to let him help her. Frustration at being kept in the dark would surely be worse than concocting a plan of action.

“I’ll tell you if you promise to eat.”

In answer, he opened his mouth, ready for another spoonful.

While he ate, she told him how she’d discovered the bills piling up. “Why didn’t you tell me about the ships? Perhaps I could have helped.”

Grandfather shook his head.

“But it affects me. It affects you and this entire household. You need to trust me with this.”

Rather than acknowledge her, he indicated he was ready for another spoonful of soup.

Pressing her lips together, she held back the retort that threatened and brought the soup to his mouth. “It appears Thomas’s company reimbursed for the first ship and cargo, but I couldn’t find any insurance paperwork on the second ship. Does he have that at his office?”

Grandfather shook his head slightly and glanced out the window. Ignoring her? Or considering what to answer? She wasn’t sure.

“Should I send a telegram to Stuart?”

It seemed the obvious solution to her. Stuart managed his own shipping business now, but having trained under Dorian, he still partnered with him on an occasional run. Grandfather furrowed his brows.

“What, then?”

He grabbed the paper and pen from his bedside table. Moving them to his lap, he proceeded to write, left-handed and awkward.

“See? You should have learned to sign. It would help now,” she said, teasing lightly while he scribbled. He grunted, apparently not flattered by her suggestion.

“Here. Let me take a look.” She picked up the note and deciphered his squiggly handwriting. “Accept Thomas’s offer?” Her gaze flew to his. “Marriage? You think the answer is for me to marry?”

He frowned at her with only half of his face, took the paper and wrote again. He’ll take care of you.

She couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. For years he’d said Lansing Enterprises was her legacy, and now he was asking her to turn her back on it? She rose to her feet and paced in the small confines of the room. “But...what about the business? Families we employ depend upon Lansing Enterprises for their livelihood. What about them? I cannot consider only myself.”

With the pen, he carved the words in the paper, tearing it in the process. You need a secure future.

“But I thought... I believed...” She searched for the right words. He’d led her to believe she would inherit the company. “This is just a temporary setback. We’ll build the business back up. We’ll press on. That’s what you always say.”

He pressed his lips together on the one side of his mouth, and wrote, “Thomas knows what to do.”

That was not how she’d envisioned her life. She’d thought she would assume control of the company. She’d made plans.... “Grandfather,” she began, sinking back onto the bed. She closed her eyes, took a big breath and then opened them again. “This illness has scared you. You’re acting like...like you won’t get better. But you will. Look how much improved you are today compared to yesterday.” The alternative, she could not bring herself to contemplate. He’d always been there for her, even when they disagreed. She couldn’t lose him.

His glare only reinforced her words. A week ago he’d encouraged her to consider Thomas Rowlings’s proposal. Grandfather’s business associate was a pleasant sort and rather dashing for a man twenty years her senior. His insurance company was prosperous. She’d want for nothing.

It was a viable solution. She didn’t expect—didn’t want—a marriage based on love. That emotion led only to disappointment and heartbreak. Yet why did she suddenly feel as though she couldn’t breathe? “I know you are thinking only of my good...”

Grandfather’s gaze never wavered from her face.

She had to get away, had to take time to consider things. She rubbed her forehead. “You truly believe this is the best course?”

He nodded once, slow and firm.

She dragged in a shaky breath. “I see. Thomas is due back from Sacramento in one week. I’ll...I’ll give him an answer then.”

* * *

In the study, Hannah sat numbly at the large desk, staring at the piles of papers without really seeing them. Marriage... It seemed so final...like an iron door closing. And although she respected Thomas, he hadn’t shown any interest when she’d mentioned her desire to start a school for children who couldn’t speak. He’d simply smiled, rather patronizingly she thought, and changed the subject.

She gathered the stack of ledgers and deposited them in the third drawer. As she started to lock the desk, she noticed a packet from the lawyer and the pile of bills still sitting out. Although she trusted Edward, it wouldn’t do to have the other servants learning the extent of their circumstances and gossiping to others in town. She stuffed the papers into the drawer, yet one envelope refused to fit tidily in. She pulled it out and then recognized Stuart’s careful penmanship.

He’d taken his ship south several weeks ago and should be returning any day now. He seldom made long trips anymore, always anxious to return to Rachel and his children. Years ago he’d had a falling-out with Grandfather. Other than an occasional business dealing, they no longer communicated. So this wouldn’t be a personal letter. As acting owner, she had the right to read it. She drew the silver letter opener across the seal.

Dorian,

I trust this letter finds you and Hannah well.

While finishing business here in Los Angeles, I’ve discovered information that may prove useful to you.

Wares from your last shipment have appeared on the open market here—without evidence of ill use by the sea. My records show that the Margarita stopped in San Diego and disappeared shortly thereafter. I shall see if I can learn anything more before starting home.

Stuart

She stared in shock at the note. This changed things. If the merchandise was turning up in Los Angeles—and in salable condition—that meant the ship hadn’t gone down due to rough seas. It meant something entirely different altogether. Could it be the ship was somewhere else—possibly across the border in Mexican waters?

Visions of the lighthouse where she had once lived filled her mind. Even now she could hear the cry of the gulls as they glided effortlessly on the updraft created by the sandstone cliffs.

Shaking off the memories, she read the letter again. Nervous energy built inside, a fine tension that ricocheted through her. If she could find out what had truly happened, perhaps it would be possible to fix things enough to save the business. That would solve everything! She wouldn’t have to marry Thomas—at least not on his terms.

This was not something she could hand off to someone else. She needed to keep control. Only then would Grandfather believe she could assume leadership of the business. She must prove herself. She shoved the letter into the drawer and locked the desk.

It was simple. She must go to San Diego. There would be some maneuvering involved—particularly regarding Grandfather. He couldn’t know until she was safely away. She’d have to leave a note for him. The staff—Nina—could give it to him after she was well on her way. Time enough later to explain things.

She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and realized her hand was trembling. Excitement coursed through her even as she tried to tamp it down. This was impulsive and perhaps a bit foolhardy, but if she considered every angle and prepared for difficulties, then surely she would get her answers. To sit and wait for Stuart to return or Grandfather to get well wouldn’t accomplish anything!

She’d need an escort. Edward could accompany her. Oh, think again, Hannah! Edward will go straight to Grandfather. The butler’s loyalty was commendable, but in this situation could only hinder her.

What about Caleb...?

The thought stopped her midflight, and she plopped back onto the chair.

Her gaze darted to the drawer that held the small address book. No. She couldn’t. She’d given Grandfather her word.

Besides, with Caleb’s penchant for adventure he could easily be in Timbuktu by now. Yet the thought refused to leave her. Caleb knew about the currents and tides—things she didn’t. After all this time, would he still be in San Diego? And more than that—would he even see her after the way she’d treated him?

She looked back at the desk drawer. At one time, back when they’d been friends, she’d written his name in that book. She fisted her hand. She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. She’d been so good. Tried so hard to please Grandfather. He would never approve of this.

Caleb even knew the shipping lanes and the crosscurrents.

Barely breathing, she reached out and pulled on the drawer. She withdrew the book...flipped through the pages.

Harrison...Heinrich...Houston...

Exhaling, she stared at her own childish penciled handwriting. Grandfather hadn’t updated the entry. In fact, he’d crossed out the name with bold slashes of indigo ink, nearly obliterating its existence. The action spoke of suppressed anger...possibly fear, but he had nothing to worry about. A promise was a promise—and for a Lansing, it held even more weight.

And because of it, Caleb was no longer a part of her life. She wasn’t proud of herself for what she’d done that day; in fact for many years she’d done her best to put it from her mind. It hurt to remember. But she’d kept her promise to Grandfather. That was the important thing. Her friendship with Caleb had been the price. Caleb would never forgive her, which was as it should be. She didn’t expect his forgiveness—didn’t deserve his forgiveness.

Her throat constricted. She couldn’t have it all. A choice had to be made and she’d made it. Selfish? Yes. Purely and wholly selfish—wanting to speak, wanting Grandfather’s approval, wanting...Caleb. She smoothed her fingers over her lips. To this day she remembered how his kiss had felt, how it had made her feel.

Suddenly angry with herself for dredging up a past she’d knowingly formed, a past that couldn’t be changed, she slammed shut the drawer. It had been a crush. Puppy love, perhaps. And it had died years ago.

She would still keep her promise to Grandfather. If Caleb was in San Diego, she’d hire him for his expertise—and that alone. She wasn’t going there to see him. That part of her life was over. What mattered was the business. Only the business.