The Sugar Queen Page 13

  “Papa,” she whispered.

  “Take the baby,” I said. “Get the others and lock yourselves in the nursery.”

  Two weeks later, Ida had walked into the snow wearing nothing but her dressing gown.

  Now, I blinked and looked up at the stars. Those days were gone. We’d come out of that awful time to the present.

  My wife had changed dramatically after the birth of the twins. Before them, she’d been prone to sadness and irrational fears, but she’d still been able to participate in life. With Josephine, she’d been trepidatious and overly worried about the baby, yet distant from her. After the boys came, she seemed uninterested in them and preferred to spend her days in her room, painting or drawing. I hired a nanny to help, and we continued to live as we had. At the mercy of Ida’s moods. I loved the children enough for both of us. At least, that’s what I told myself.

  During her energetic cycles, she’d come to my bed. I’m ashamed how weak I was. Even knowing how sick the pregnancies made her, I was unable to fend off her advances. She became pregnant with Cymbeline. When she gave birth, she wouldn’t feed or hold her. One night, she said the baby had been sent from the devil to kill her.

  I asked Dr. Moore to examine her. He said he’d seen it before. Psychosis after giving birth. He assured me the irrational fears would subside after a few months. He’d asked if she’d demonstrated any unstable symptoms before this. I lied to him. I couldn’t tell him of her manic behavior, of the ups and downs I’d endured with her from the very first year of our marriage. The weeks she wouldn’t get out of her bed. The many, many nights she couldn’t sleep, pacing around the house like a caged tiger. The endless cycle of despondency followed by a clamored elation.

  He was right. Three months after Cymbeline came, Ida returned to her usual behavior. The manic cycles continued, but she no longer thought the baby was sent by the devil. In hindsight, I can see that her psychosis grew deeper and more violent, ending finally with her poised over her own baby’s crib with a knife.

  Even now, after three years, shame flamed inside me. Her poor, tortured mind had finally been given relief as she died in the cold, all alone. I’d grieved for my babies who would never know their mother. Yet, and I’m ashamed of this too, I felt a sense of relief. Living with her had been a daily hell. Without her, I could bring calm and routine into my home.

  Bloody hell, this was not doing me any good. Rehashing everything for the thousandth time. Allowing the shame to bubble to the surface and strangle me. Was I deserving of a new love? A second chance for happiness? I had no idea. Was it bold and ridiculous to hope that Miss Cooper would fall in love with me and agree to be my wife? Would that even be the right thing for her? I’d driven one woman to madness already. I’d brought danger into Miss Cooper’s life by bringing her out here.

  Oh, but she was breathtaking. And intelligent. Graceful, steady, and exceptionally brave to come all the way out west to teach school on the frontier.

  “What do you think of Miss Cooper?” I asked. Oliver and Twist both whinnied in response. “I’d say the horses like her.”

  “She’s lively and authoritative. Like a herding dog.”

  I laughed. “And you disapprove?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, I’m rather taken with her myself.”

  I nudged his shoulder. “Jasper, are you growing soft on me?”

  He sniffed. “I’m thinking of the children. What could be better than a herding dog for your brood?”

  “What about for me? Do I need a herding dog?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  I laughed again.

  “You’re interested for real,” Jasper asked.

  “I’m interested,” I said. “Not that I remember how to court someone.”

  “I’m happy to hear this. Lizzie and I have worried you’d never get over what happened with Lady Ida.”

  “It’s too soon to know if there’s anything special between us, of course. The children are keen on the idea.” I told him about the strange way they’d reacted to her looking after them. “They were adamant that she would be my wife, not their nanny. I’ve never known them to do or say anything so outlandish. Then they asked if I’d ordered her, like Carter did with this wife.”

  I expected Jasper to chuckle over that. Instead, I heard him sniff and looked over to see him dabbing at his eyes.

  “Something in your eye?” I asked.

  “A fleck of dust,” he said.

  “You really are getting soft on me.”

  “I’ve always been soft when it comes to the children,” he said. “It’s shameful how they have me wrapped around their fingers.”

  “You and me both,” I said.

  We turned into the driveway toward the house. The familiar scent of woodsmoke welcomed us home. “What about you? Do you ever think about marrying?” I asked.

  “How could I and continue to work for you? Butlers do not marry.”

  I turned to look at him. His profile in the light of the moon was as sharp and precise as his statement. “If there was someone you wanted, we could build a cottage for you. There’s no reason to keep to those old rules. Not here.”

  “Lizzie’s certainly embraced the new ways. It’s that blasted raspberry wine she drinks after supper. Her tongue loosens, and the next thing I know she’s telling me she loves me.”

  “What did you say?” Was he joking? No, his features were arranged in their usual serious position. “I thought you two were mortal enemies.”

  “How a person could be so irritatingly cheerful is beyond my comprehension. However, I wouldn’t describe her as my enemy. I vacillate between wanting to kiss her and send her to her room with no supper.”

  I chuckled. “Given that she cooks our supper, that would be difficult. I’d go with kissing.”

  “There’s a bothersome and distracting tension between us. Acting upon it could ruin both our lives.”

  “I’m not sure how taking a woman to bed could ruin your life. Especially if you’ve married her first.”

  “I’m not the kind to fall in love.”

  “You could be happy together. What’s wrong with happiness?” I asked. “You want it for me.”

  “Happiness is for other people. Normal people.”

  “You’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever known,” I said.

  “Thank you, lord.”

  “That was not praise.” I slowed the horses as we passed by the house. The horses neighed, happy to see the barn. “Listen to me carefully. If you continue to break both your hearts by being a mulish fool, then I have no choice but to send you home to England.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t. But I can’t have you hurting Lizzie.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Let me ask you this,” I said. “What would you think if I told you Clive Higgins was asking about her?”

  He didn’t answer, but his shoulders stiffened.

  “Should I tell him she’s available for courting?” I asked.

  “She wouldn’t like him. He’s uneducated.”

  “I believe the ladies find him handsome.”

  Again, silence, then a sniff.

  Forgive me for my white lie, I prayed silently. But what’s a man to do with a mule?

  “If she liked him, it would settle things once and for all,” Jasper said.

  “Sure thing. I’ll throw them a nice wedding reception in the garden next summer. Soon they’ll have pretty babies, and you’ll still be all alone in your room downstairs.”

  “Excellent idea.”

  Despite his words to the contrary, his tight tone betrayed him. I smiled to myself in the darkness. Clive Higgins might need to drop by to borrow some sugar one afternoon. Nothing like a little competition to wake a man to his destiny.

  Around noon the next day, I headed over to talk to the Higgins brothers about what they knew. They were both behind the counter, although the shop was empty of customers.


  “Good timing, Lord Barnes,” Wayne said. “We were about to close up for a short lunch break. Care to join us?”

  “I’ve eaten, but would be happy to sit with you.”

  “Follow me,” Clive said as we walked to the back of the store where the brothers shared a small office.

  While Wayne unpacked stacks of sandwiches and set them on the desk, Clive offered me a glass of whiskey. I politely declined. “It’s a little early for me.”

  They didn’t waste any time with more niceties and launched into their reason for asking me here. “I don’t know if it means anything, but Kellam was in the saloon after Cole was killed. Drunk, as usual,” Clive said.

  “Running his mouth,” Wayne said.

  “About?” I asked.

  Wayne unwrapped his sandwich as if it were a Christmas present. “He said he overheard Carter and some of those old men that hang around his shop playing checkers all day talking about how they were going to make sure the Cole kids didn’t show up at school.”

  “He said they were getting a group together to go out and talk to Cole,” Clive said. “Set him straight that they best keep to themselves or there would be trouble.”

  “What else did he say?” I asked.

  “That was about it,” Clive said. “We told him he should go to the sheriff and report what he’d heard. But you know how it is with drunks. You can’t reason with them.”

  “True enough,” I said.

  “He doesn’t look after that daughter of his,” Clive said. “Poor little thing’s in here all the time begging for scraps.”

  “She came in last week and asked if we had anything for her,” Wayne said. “She was limping and holding herself real careful, like she was hurt. I think that bastard beats her.”

  Clive swallowed a bite of sandwich before continuing. “I asked if her pa had any luck hunting and she said he tried but never could get anything.”

  “A drunk fool like that isn’t going to be able to hit a jackrabbit,” Wayne said.

  “Anyway, we told this to the sheriff already,” Clive said.

  “But we thought we better tell you, too,” Wayne said.

  “We didn’t get the feeling the sheriff cared too much one way or the other,” Clive said.

  I stood and prepared to go. “Thanks, gentlemen. I appreciate it.”

  “Let us know if you need anything,” Clive said.

  “Anything at all,” Wayne said. “As long as this stays between us. We don’t need any trouble.”

  “You have my word.”

  I found Sheriff Lancaster playing cards at the saloon. We made eye contact, and he gave me a slight nod. “Give me a second, Barnes.”

  “Sure.”

  I took a stool at the counter and made small talk with Murphy while I waited.

  A few minutes later, Lancaster cursed and threw down his cards. “Too rich for me.” He stood and grabbed his cowboy hat from the rack and nodded toward the door. Outside, he tilted his head toward the sky and sniffed, like a dog on a hunt, then walked through the alley to the back of the building. I had no choice but to follow him. Lancaster wasn’t one to take direction. He’d made it quite clear my English title meant nothing to him. Nor did the fact that I owned every building in town.

  Most likely from years on a horse, the sheriff walked bowlegged. His lanky, skinny frame didn’t seem inclined to move fast as he took a cigarette from his denim pants pocket and stuck it in his mouth. I wondered what he’d be like in a shoot-out. Did he draw his gun in the lazy way he walked? If so, I hoped we didn’t have any shoot-outs on his watch.

  Murphy had shoveled the snow around the back side of the building as well as the front, making it a good place to talk. Lancaster leaned against the brick wall and lowered his hat, shielding his eyes from my view. With a white handlebar mustache and a face with more crevices than the volcanic rock formations I’d seen during my visits south, he was as crusty as they came.

  “What do you want?” He struck a match against the brick and lit his cigarette.

  I told him what I’d learned from the Higgins boys. “They said they already told you. I wanted to see what you knew.”

  “Yeah, I talked to them. Those boys at Carter’s were just blowing off steam.” He took a long drag from his cigarette. “What do you know about Kellam?”

  “Not much. I know his daughter’s attending school without his knowledge and that Miss Cooper is worried about him coming to her classroom and dragging the poor child out by her hair.”

  I waited as he let out a long stream of smoke from his lungs. One couldn’t be in a hurry with this fellow.

  “I went out and talked to Mrs. Cole a few times.” He had the raspy timbre of a heavy smoker. I wanted to give him a glass of water. “She told me about the financial arrangement her husband made for her.”

  I watched him carefully. Where was he going with this? Would I have to fight him for her right to the money? “Yes. What’s that have to do with his murder?”

  “It puts you as the prime suspect.”

  My immediate reaction was to lambaste him, but I held my temper and answered calmly. “Samuel Cole was a rich man, true. In comparison to my own wealth, however, it was of no consequence.”

  “That right?”

  “That’s right. Anyway, Samuel was my friend.”

  “What about her? Any motive to get rid of him?” The tip of his skinny, hand-rolled cigarette burned orange as he took another drag.

  “They had a good marriage despite the tensions from the outside world.”

  He tossed the cigarette on the ground and stomped it with the heel of his boot. “Let me know if you hear anything else, but you need to prepare yourself. This murder may never be solved.”

  “Isn’t it your job to do so? The governor sent you out here to keep law.”

  “Let me put it to you this way. As far as I’m concerned, the guy got what he deserved. He brought a woman like that here and lived with her like man and wife. What did he expect?” Without another word, he sauntered away, disappearing around the corner of the building.

  I picked up his cigarette and tossed it in the trash bin Murphy kept near the back door. Then I headed down to the barbershop.

  I entered through the front door of Carter’s barbershop. All heads turned, and the room silenced. Carter was giving the postmaster, Ray Owens, a shave. At a table in the front, two bearded men I didn’t know played checkers. Two others I’d seen around town read a newspaper and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes. The room smelled of smoke and shaving cream.

  “Looking for a shave, Barnes?” Carter asked.

  Matthew Carter was in his fifties with a paunch, a long white beard, and white hair slicked back with thick pomade. He was a good tenant, never late with his rent or outwardly hostile. However, I’d heard from others that he resented my power and money.

  “I’m here about Cole’s murder,” I said. “Wondering if you gentlemen know anything about that.” Cigarette smoke hovered near the ceiling like a cloud cover.

  “What would we know?” Carter asked.

  “You and your friends here have let your opinions be known when it came to the Cole children going to school.” I left it at that, hoping to bait someone into talking.

  “Like you said, no secret there,” Carter said as he scraped the blade across Owen’s chin in short, fluid movements.

  “Did you dislike it enough to kill a man?” I asked.

  Carter didn’t bother to look up from his work. “Not sure what you mean.” Scrape, scrape, scrape went his blade.

  “I heard something about a group of men joining up to go out and talk with Cole. You know anything about that?”

  “Can’t say as I do,” Carter said. “But talking ain’t the same as killing.”

  The rest of them were all back to pretending to play checkers and reading the paper.

  “May I ask why you care?” I asked.

  Carter lifted his head to look at me. “Listen, Barnes, you may own most of this town, bu
t you don’t own our thoughts. This is America. We’re free to think however we please. I don’t want their kind here. As much money as you have, you can’t control our opinions. You don’t like it? Too bad.”

  “I don’t like it. My friend’s dead because of a bigot. I’ll find out the truth. Trust me, whoever was involved will pay.”

  “You’re not going to find answers here,” Carter said.

  That was clear. I tipped my hat and left. Once outside, I drew in a deep breath.

  Knowing I wouldn’t be able to concentrate back at my office, I headed toward the park. Often, I’d eat my lunch there and watch the ducks. I trudged with some care through the banks of snow caused by the plow Harley had used earlier to clear the streets. The storefronts had been shoveled but were slick under my feet.

  Harley and I had planted grass, laid brick walkways, and built benches around the pond, creating a park for picnics and family gatherings in warm months and ice-skating during the winter. Only a couple feet deep, the water was too shallow for swimming. However, it made for great ice-skating in the winter months. Today, a thick layer of ice covered the pond and was likely to remain until late March. I brushed several inches of new snow from a bench near the water’s edge and sat. The sun hung low in the sky and shed a wintry blue light over the landscape.

  With great squawking and fluttering of wings, a flock of black-and-white ducks swooped over the pond and onto the ice. Surprised by the slick surface, they slid on their feathered bellies. Affronted by this indignity, they rose on their webbed feet and took tiny steps, then slid a few inches and repeated the cycle, all the while pecking the ice with their bills. Their quacks sounded more like bleats as they complained to one another. Food sources this time of year were at the mercy of the weather.

  As I sat there, I thought through my next move. If today had taught me anything, it was that Samuel’s death was not going to be solved by the sheriff. I had nothing to go on, other than a suspicion his murder had been caused by bigotry. I had to come to a reconciliation that I might never know who killed my friend. Until Rachel forgave me, I couldn’t do much for her, either.