October
Before, Beth had always thought of the period following Samuel’s death as the worst of her life. With Lily’s disappearance, she realized that things could be worse. It was horrible to know that a beloved son and brother had died far away from home, but at least that fateful telegram had given the family the finality of closure. With Lily, the uncertainty made the experience almost unbearable. Hope battled despair in the hearts of the Bennets. Without knowing what had become of Lily, there was no way of not thinking about her.
Rumors swirled around the town. All sorts of theories were put forth, but the one that seemed to be believed by most was that the band of Klansmen had returned and Lily Bennet had either been kidnapped or convinced to run off with them. A cowpoke from the B&R claimed he awoke from his bedroll on the range to the sound of horses in the distance the night Lily disappeared. Nothing was confirmed, but that was enough for those who needed something to believe.
Judge Phillips called off the search after a few days. The rest of the town was nearly insensible with fear. They could convince themselves that the attack on the Washingtons was an isolated incident, but now that a neighbor’s daughter was missing and presumed stolen away, the people could no longer ignore what was happening. Evil was riding the range, and everyone was terrified that they or their family could be next.
Doors were locked tight, guns were kept loaded, and socializing stopped. The storekeepers were concerned over their livelihoods, as shopping for anything save the barest of necessities had ceased. Church attendance was cut in half. The streets in town belonged to the tumbleweeds, dogs, and Judge Phillips’s deputies.
As September turned into October, the Bennets lived in a sort of half-life. No matter the fears and anxieties, fields needed to be tended, animals needed to be fed, and chores needed to be done. The family went about their duties listlessly, one ear cocked to hear the approach of news that never came. There was no escape from the gloom. Mr. Bennet made it clear that none of the women were to leave the farm, and that included church. The once-a-week trips for supplies would be done by either Mr. Bennet or the farmhand, Hill, and neither would be absent from the farm at the same time.
Those trips were the only relief Beth received during this time, because there would always be a note from Charlotte brought from town to her. Not all of the family’s friends abandoned them. The Bingleys would come by as often as they could, and Reverend Tilney’s occasional visits were appreciated, especially by Mary, but they were cold comfort to Beth. She yearned for the company of a man she had once hated—a person she realized was the best man she had ever known.
For it was there in Charlotte’s letters—while the rest of town had given up on the search for Lily, even the sheriff—that Beth learned that the story from Pemberley was different. Will Darcy’s men, when they could be excused from their duties, spent their time searching every nook and cranny in the county, looking for a sign of the girl. Charlotte never said who supplied her information, but Beth had an idea who it was. No one who had witnessed the attentions paid to the girl by Richard Fitzwilliam at the Burroughses’ party back in July could fail to see the signs of a blooming romance.
Beth was thrilled at William’s constancy. He had promised he wouldn’t give up, and he hadn’t. Her heart whispered it was for her, but her better sense tamped down her hopes. Will Darcy was a great man—kind and generous—and she thought he would do the same for anyone. Could he still love her?
Beth now knew she was in love with Will Darcy. She could not pinpoint the time or place when it had happened; the feeling had come to her so gradually. Certainly, by the time she visited Pemberley she was well on her way. Perhaps watching firsthand how well he handled the twin disasters that had befallen Rosings—the lynchings and Lily’s disappearance—had proven to her that Will was not a proud and willful martinet. Rather, he was a quick-thinking and forceful leader, ready to step forward when the time called for action. Perhaps as the last of the numerous misunderstandings of his character fell away, she could do nothing but admire and love him.
Her joy was tempered with anguish. Letters from others extolling his goodness were not enough. Even though she knew he was busy and the times were dangerous, she still longed to see him again—to talk with him again, to dance in his arms again. Why did he not come to visit? Was he embarrassed to associate himself with her family? She was being nonsensical, she knew. Darcy had never been invited to their house in the past. In fact, he had been on Bennet land only once to the best of her knowledge—during the cattle drive in the spring. Why would he ever think he would be welcomed?
But a woman’s heart was never completely rational. Beth desired only two things—Lily returned home and for herself to be in Darcy’s arms—and she was afraid she would see neither ever again.
Summer had finally broken, and the residents enjoyed the moderation of temperatures that passed for fall in Central Texas. On such a bright and sunny day, Charlotte descended from her cart and was in the act of securing the horse when the bells of Santa Maria began to mark the hour. As the twelfth and final peal faded, Charlotte walked not into the mission chapel but the graveyard beyond. There, in the shadows afford by a group of oak trees, stood a tall cowboy wearing a black hat with a silver band.
A moment later, Charlotte was in Fitz’s arms, their lips hungrily searching for the other’s. Arms about Fitz’s neck, Charlotte delighted in the feelings their kisses inflamed in her body and soul. The breath seemed to be squeezed out of her lungs, so tight was her beloved’s embrace. A warm dizziness enveloped her, and she could not support herself on her now trembling legs. Her companion seemed to understand, for they were soon on their knees, and then prone on the soft grass between the headstones, lost in lovemaking.
Fitz’s mouth drew away long enough to gasp, “You’re wearin’ your rose water.” Charlotte smiled widely, her eyes alive with love and passion, lighting up her plain features, before drawing Fitz back for another kiss.
It had begun in late June, soon after Fitzwilliam returned from Kansas. He appeared at the Lucases’ back door one evening while the sheriff was working at the jail. He was dressed in his Sunday best, a small wrapped gift in his hand. Tenderly, Charlotte unwrapped the package to discover a small bottle of perfume. Shyly glancing at the man, she lifted the stopper to the smell of roses.
“They had some o’ that made of gardenias,” Fitz had said, looking at the bottle, “but I was thinkin’ that stuff was too showy for you. Roses seemed a better choice. I hope you like it.”
“I… I love it.” She was confused, yet hopeful.
He finally raised his eyes to hers. “I hope you don’t think I’m too forward.”
She nervously licked her lips. “Not at all.”
“Sorry I came to the back door an’ all—you deserve better than that—but I didn’t want to cause any fuss with your kin.”
“I understand.”
He paused, as if to gather his courage—a strange thing to do, Charlotte thought at the time, as she had nothing but admiration for the ranch foreman.
“You goin’ to the Burroughses’ party?” he asked. Told that she was, he gulped.
“Will you spare a dance for me?”
From that moment, Charlotte knew she had a sweetheart. She agreed to dance with Fitz, thanking him for the gift and the invitation with a light peck on his cheek. The look of wonder on his lined face was priceless. She almost wept with joy. He left a minute later, the slightly goofy expression still there.
Charlotte carefully hid her gift in her room, not wanting to answer uncomfortable questions from her father. She used it only for special occasions, and those times were reserved for Richard Fitzwilliam. She wore it to the dance, delighting the man. She offered no resistance when, late in the afternoon, they were able to steal away from the crowd, finding a quiet, private place to share their first kiss. It was everything Charlotte had dreamed it would be.
Their courtship, however, was not. Sheriff Lucas had questioned his daughter severely upon returning home. He had seen her dance with Fitz, and he made his displeasure plain. So firm was his admonition of her behavior—to him, dancing with Fitz was turning her back on his authority as her father—that Charlotte realized discussion or argument was useless. Nothing she could say would soften her father’s heart. Fitz was unworthy of her, and that was it. She would not be able to meet with Fitzwilliam openly, and as she had no intention of giving him up, they would have to meet secretly.
The solution was easily found. Gaby had expressed a desire to practice music with Charlotte on a weekly basis. Rather than making Miss Lucas go all the way to Pemberley, they would meet at the Catholic mission. Charlotte understood the concern over Whitehead; she had noticed his interest in both the Pemberley and B&R heiresses. The mission was close to town, so Gaby would still be safe on Pemberley land, and the church had a piano. One in the afternoon was the agreed time.
However, when securing her father’s permission for the scheme, Charlotte told one little lie—she said they would meet at noon and have a shared lunch before practice. Sheriff Lucas consented, happy that Miss Darcy was his daughter’s friend. But it wasn’t Gaby who Charlotte arranged to meet at noon, but Fitzwilliam. They would share a basket lunch weekly and have an hour of each other’s company in the shade of the trees near the mission’s cemetery.
Charlotte was certain that Gaby had no idea their musical meetings were a cover for her assignations with Fitzwilliam. She felt a bit guilty over using her friend, but she convinced herself that she had no other choice. As for Father Joseph, if he was aware of the goings-on in his cemetery, he made no comment.
As July stretched into August, the couple spent less time eating and more time enjoying each other’s company in more demonstrative ways. By September, Charlotte was certainly compromised, but not irreversibly so. They had not consummated their love and passion, but each week it grew more difficult to restrain their mutual desire—as it had today.
The troubles in town might have ended the meetings of the Ladies Musical Society, but Charlotte’s weekly visits with Gaby continued. The plain sheriff’s daughter was thought to be immune from whatever was going on. She could travel in town openly and without escort as long as it was during the day. Besides, the queer girl was known to be armed and an excellent shot, as she had proved during rodeos past. So, Charlotte was able to keep her rendezvous with her lover while most women were shut at home.
Whether it was the cool weather, the tension in town, or simply because it had been a week since she had been in Fitz’s arms, Charlotte was more passionate than ever. The air seemed to rush past her ears as she lost herself to her emotions. Fitz’s lips traced a trail down her neck as his hand lightly teased the cloth that covered her breasts. The girl was on fire, a low moan escaping her lips. In the back of her desire-intoxicated mind, she knew if Fitz lowered his hand and raised her skirts, she would willingly part her legs and allow him to take her. Therefore, it took her a moment to realize the cowboy was no longer half-lying on top of her but had instead rolled over onto his side.
“Oh, God, sweetheart, I love you,” he panted.
For an instant, Charlotte was aggrieved and disappointed before her modesty and common sense caught up with her emotions. Once again, Fitz had shown more restraint than she had, and though she flushed with shame at her behavior, her love for and pride in him increased. She tenderly stroked his face.
“It feels like a wonderful dream, every time I’m in your arms. I keep waiting to wake up and find out that you don’t really care for me—that this has never happened.” He kissed her fingers to reassure her. She smiled, the heat infusing her body starting to fade. “I’d best get the lunch. Gaby will be here soon.”
Fitz turned his eyes to her. “No hurry. Gaby’s not coming.”
“What?” Charlotte sat right up, pulling her hand away from his. “Why not? Is anything wrong?”
Fitz was on his side, his head propped up by one arm. “Naw. She’s fine. It’s just that Will’s gone to Fort Worth, an’ he don’t want Gaby to leave the house ’til he gets back.”
Charlotte was initially relieved, until another thought struck her. “How long have you known this?”
“Since Monday.”
“And you didn’t get word to me? Oh!” The girl stood up, wrapped her arms around herself, and paced furiously. Fitz scrambled to his feet.
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Everything. Oh!” Fitz tried to console her without success. How could Charlotte explain her feelings? It was onething to fib to her father and come early for her meetings with Gaby so that she could spend time with Fitz. It was another thing entirely if Gaby wasn’t there at all. The sensible part of her mind whispered that deceit was deceit, and there was little difference between the two. But a woman in a forbidden romance was hardly sensible, and it would take some minutes before the girl could manage her guilty emotions.
“I’m all right, Fitz,” she said into his dusty shirt as he held her to his chest. “I’d best get the luncheon from the cart.”
Soon the two were nibbling on cheese, bread, and apples, sharing water from Fitz’s canteen. The romantic spell had been broken for now, so they discussed the doings around town.
“Denny’s men are still crawling all over the place,” Charlotte told Fitz. “They walk around as if they own the town, demanding favors from the shopkeepers. Mrs. Zimmerman’s told me she can’t keep sweets in stock.” She noticed the concern and anger on Fitz’s face. “Oh, they leave me alone, don’t worry.”
“Like hell I won’t! What makes you so sure you’re safe walkin’ the streets?”
“Besides being the sheriff’s daughter? They’ll have to notice me, first. Being plain has its advantages.”
“You ain’t plain,” Fitz said with conviction and not for the first time.
Charlotte smiled. “I’m glad you think that.”
Fitz grimaced. “Humph. I reckon I ought to be grateful them bushwhackers must be blind as well as greedy,” he said without a smidgen of counterfeit praise. Charlotte was amused, gratified, and just a little mystified at this continued evidence of her boyfriend’s admiration. “You sure you’re safe?”
“Absolutely.”
Fitz sighed. “I still don’t like this. What’s your paw doin’ about it?”
“He’s had words with Judge Phillips, and he’s been told that they’ll be reined in. Besides, there’s not much he can do if the folks won’t swear out an official complaint. They’re scared of Denny, and they won’t, so all Paw and his deputies can do is try to keep an eye on things.”
Fitz tossed an apple core into the woods. “He ought to do more,” he grumbled.
“With what? Fitz, there’s only the three of them. How can he go up against Denny? He’s outnumbered four-to-one.”
Fitz paused. “I suppose they ain’t spendin’ a whole lot o’ time lookin’ for Miss Lily.”
“No. Ever since they found her horse, they’ve given up on the search, no matter how much they claim otherwise. Paw’s busy watching Denny, and…” She looked away. “Fitz, do you really think Lily can be found?”
“I don’t know, but Will says we gotta keep an eye open for her. He promised the Bennets he wouldn’t quit, an’ he won’t until she’s found, alive or… well, until she’s found.”
Charlotte sighed. “Mr. Darcy must really love Beth.”
“I reckon so. Why he don’t just ask th’ girl to marry him is just plumb loco.”
Charlotte looked at her sweetheart through her eyelashes. “So, you think a man in love ought to propose to his intended?”
Fitz’s sardonic grin faded. “I do if’n he thinks th’ girl in question will give him the answer he wants.” His eyes bore into hers. “For example, would she marry without her father’s approval?”
Charlotte felt her tears rising. “Fitz, I… I…”
“Shush, sweetie,” he said as he gathered her into his arms. “We’ll just give him a little more time to accept us.” He grinned without humor. “A little more time.”
“But what if he never comes around?”
“Then we got us a decision to make.”
Charlotte wasn’t fooled by Fitz’s use of the word “us”—it was she who would have to decide between father and lover. The unfairness of it all threatened to cause her unshed tears to fall.
“I’d best be getting back home,” she said to cover up her distress. Fitz refused to release her hand.
“Can you come next week? As long as it’s safe, I mean.”
Charlotte knew she shouldn’t. “Of course.”
The man behind the desk rose from his chair upon Darcy’s entrance into the office. “Good evening, Mr. Darcy,” said the middle-aged, well-dressed man as he walked around the desk, hand held out in greeting. “I hope I can answer any questions you may still have after the presentation this afternoon.”
“I’m sure you can, Mr. Knightly,” answered Darcy as they shook hands. Knightly suggested they take a seat around a small table in one corner of the office. As Darcy made himself comfortable, he surveyed both the office and the man who occupied it. The room was ten feet square, not overly large for such a place in Fort Worth. The furnishings were in good condition but showed a bit of age. A bookcase with glass doors was against one wall, and next to it was a large safe. The room was neat, but not overly so. The small pile of papers on the desk and the stack of maps in one corner were proof it was the working office of an organized mind and not a set on a stage.
Knightly, too, he judged. He had heard of the Knightly brothers, John and Gabriel. They had worked as assistants on several railroad projects, but this was their first time setting up their own syndicate. The man who sat opposite him was open and calm. John Knightly had answered all questions at the presentation with confidence and honesty. What he knew, he shared; and if he or his brother didn’t know the answer, he said so. Darcy felt he could trust them.
The project was interesting: a proposed new railroad between Fort Worth and Abilene, Texas. Darcy had been one of a number of potential investors invited to the meeting. The large amount requested was not daunting; he had made such investments before, and the brothers owned an excellent reputation. Normally, he would have just made a decision in the quiet of his hotel room after reading the prospectus, but this project had electrified him—and for more reasons than being just another in a line of promising investments.
“Now, sir, how can I be of service?” John Knightly smiled, his hands clasped on the tabletop.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice. Your presentation was intriguing, to say the least.” That was an understatement; Darcy was shocked silent when the plans were revealed. It was as if a great fog had lifted from his eyes only to reveal a horrible suspicion.
Knightly laughed lightly. “I imagine so, as we’ll be running the rail line right through your property. But we want more than to purchase the right-of-way. We need visionary investors to carry this new company forward. I hope you will join us.”
“Before I can make up my mind, I must ask to see the maps of the proposed railroad, particularly those of Long Branch County.”
“Of course. Excuse me.” Knightly walked over to the safe and worked the combination. He opened the door and extracted a stack of documents, which he carried back to the table.
“We’ll spread the right map out here,” he said. “As you can see, we take no chances. Security is very important.”
Darcy understood that. Should speculators learn of the proposed route, they could buy up the land in advance and charge excessive amounts for the rights. The correct map was found and Knightly opened it up. Just then, there was a knock on the door.
“Sir?” A thin, short man stuck his head in. His nose was more prominent than his chin and he spoke with a nervous stammer. “Would you want me to make some coffee for you and the gentleman?” His large eyes seemed to be fixed on the table instead of his employer.
Knightly looked silently at Darcy, who shook his head. “No, that’s all right, Elton,” said Knightly, “you can go home now. Gabriel and I will be working late. We’ll lock up. See you in the morning.” After the clerk shut the door, the gentlemen’s attention returned to the map.
“See?” Knightly ran a finger along a line drawn on it. “My advance team chose this route about a year ago. We looked at it several more times. As you can see, it runs along the north bank of the Long Branch River through the town before crossing here and onto your land.”
Darcy’s stomach turned as his blood ran cold. “I have to ask you—are you certain no one has seen this?”
Knightly was affronted but tried to hide it. “Absolutely. We have shown these, the only maps of the project, to no one before tonight. These are the only copies, and they are kept in that safe. Only my brother and I have the combination.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Knightly, but I had to ask.”
“Is something wrong?”
Darcy struggled with how to answer. He had only suspicions, not proof. “I don’t know. Is it possible that your advance team was questioned?”
“No. You see, Mr. Darcy, my surveyors are instructed most carefully on what to say if approached. I have worked with them on other projects, and they have never violated our trust. To what do these questions pertain?”
Darcy sighed. “There’ve been some… incidents over this area.” He pointed to the new settlements.
“Hmm. That’s problematic. If we run into any difficulties, we can always go a bit farther north. I’d hate to put an unnecessary curve in the line, but that’s better than extortion.”
“That won’t help. All the land north of the river is owned by the same landowner now.”
Knightly looked up. “Really? I understand your questions, then. Perhaps the team was observed and a lucky guess was made. It’s never happened before, but there’s always the first time. I suppose you know the owner.”
Darcy wanted to be sick. “Yes, I do.”
“Do you think there will be a problem securing the right-of-way?”
“I’m not sure.” Darcy ran other possible motivations for seeking control of the bottomland through his head and came up with only one reason. To sell. “Probably not.”
Knightly sat back. “Well, if there gets to be a problem—if the price is driven up too high—we can always go to our alternative route. Actually, that’s better for you, as we’d be buying more rights from your Pemberley.”
“Perhaps. But no stop on that route, correct?”
“True. We’ll only put in a station if we go through the Town of Rosings.”
Darcy’s stomach clenched again. “The station would be of greater overall value to me and everyone else. I have to ask you to try to use the original route.”
“That’s our opinion as well. If you decide to invest in this project, can we count on you to help calm any rough waters?”
Darcy swallowed thickly. “You have my assurances. I’m in. I’ll be happy to invest in your company.”
“Wonderful!” Knightly cried, taking the rancher by the hand. “We’ve just about raised all the capital we’ll need to get started.”
“I’ll be by tomorrow to finalize the papers and arrange for delivery of the funds.” The two chatted for a few more minutes before Darcy took his leave. As he walked out of the office building, José Estrada, who had accompanied his employer to Fort Worth, fell in step beside him.
“So, we get the dinner now, boss?” José asked as the two walked the sidewalks of the city towards their hotel.
Darcy couldn’t answer—he just nodded his head. He was too busy reevaluating his cousin, Catherine Burroughs. He always knew she was a hard-nosed businesswoman, but he never dreamed she was capable of murder.
Until now.
TO G WHITEHEAD—stop—HARVEST IS IN—stop—SILO IS FULL—stop—READY TO START ON NEW BARN—stop—SUGGEST YOU PREPARE BACK FORTY—stop—MOTHER MISSES YOU—stop—E—end
“What the hell does that mean?” cried Denny.
Whitehead laughed. “It’s a coded message from Elton, my man inside the Knightly syndicate. Allow me to enlighten you. ‘Harvest is in’—that means that the investor meetings are completed. ‘Silo is full’ and ‘ready to start on the new barn’ means that the Knightlys have all the funds they need to move forward with the railroad and that construction will start soon. The words ‘back forty’ means that we better have all our affairs in order, because the syndicate will start acquiring rights-of-way.” He tossed the telegram on the desk. “See? I told you all we had to do was wait and the riches would come to us!”
“Yeah? When?”
“Soon.”
“What’s that about your mother? I thought you said you was an orphan.”
“That means Elton’s available for a meeting.”
“So, you goin’?”
Whitehead nodded, his face studying Denny’s countenance. A sudden idea came to him. “Why don’t you come with me? That way you can talk to Elton yourself—see how things are going. What about it?”
Collins perked up. “All of us?”
“No, you need to stay here to help keep Burroughs and Phillips happy. It’ll just be Denny and me with a couple of riders.”
“What about… her?” Pyke asked, pointing a finger upstairs.
“That’s your job,” Whitehead said easily, betraying the tension he felt when talking about the girl. “Keep her out of sight. You can do that, can’t you?”
“Yeah,” sneered Denny, “keep my property well looked after. Just don’t look too close, partner,” he added, patting his holstered gun.
Collins started to open his mouth, but whatever he was going to say, he thought better of it. Whitehead didn’t need to hear it, anyway, for the banker was only going to voice what had been running through his own mind. The girl had become a distraction and a threat. Things were too important; the money and the power that would come with it were too damn close to chance that she would be discovered.
Denny walked to the window. “When do you wanna leave? Been raining hard for two days. Roads will be muddy for sure.”
“As soon as it stops. We’ll go on horseback rather than the carriage. Be faster.”
Yes, Whitehead thought, the faster I get to Fort Worth to get my update from Elton, the faster I can get back here and tie up all loose ends. And that includes the girl. Denny will just have to find another toy. Lily Bennet needs to disappear for good.
It didn’t stop raining until after Darcy returned to Pemberley. The next evening he learned from his spies in town that Whitehead, Denny, and a couple of riders had left that morning for Fort Worth.
Ironic, he thought. Another day and we might have met on the road. I wonder what would have happened. Would Whitehead and his party have just passed by, or would we have settled this thing out there in the wilderness once and for all? Darcy knew he wouldn’t have started anything, but he also knew he was prepared to end it.
He forced himself to stop thinking of Whitehead; he had more pressing issues on his mind. The storms had scattered his cattle all over the range. Every hand was needed for the roundup. He knew he had days in the saddle before him.
It would only delay the confrontation with Cate Burroughs.
The rains may have stopped, but the river kept rising as the storm waters flowed into Rosings Creek and the Long Branch. Higher and higher the river rose, turning Thompson Crossing into a raging torrent. Downriver, the townspeople watched the single bridge across the river with concern, hoping it wouldn’t fail. It survived, but just barely.
The same couldn’t be said for the abandoned homesteads in the new settlement. The long-timers’ predictions rang true when the Long Branch overflowed its banks, inundating the bottomland and the houses that stood like lonely sentinels. They were flooded one by one, and a few, like the Washingtons’ place, could not stand the deluge and were swept away.
One old wag opined that God Himself was cleaning the foul stench of the crime that had been committed there. Publicly, most scoffed at the idea, but it was telling that, for generations, folks in Long Branch County would consider the site haunted.