Glorious Angel

With wide, startled eyes, Angela glanced quickly about the darkened room. A continuous hammering began and she jumped from the bed, pulling the sheet with her, and struck a match to light the candle on the bedside table. But before she could get it lit, her door crashed open.

  Angela stood paralyzed, the sheet clutched against herself. There was only a dim light coming from the outside hall.

  The intruder stumbled into the room and then suddenly fell to the floor. Angela could see only his large frame silhouetted in the dark. He clumsily struggled to his feet and she ran to the bed and searched frantically under the pillow until her hand touched the little derringer she had purchased only that afternoon.

  With the slim weapon firmly in her hand, Angela gained her courage. “S-stay where you are or I’ll have to shoot you.” Her words did not sound as brave as she had wanted them to.

  “What?”

  The voice was all too familiar, and with the sudden recognition, Angela exploded into rage, so furious that she slipped back into her old speech.

  “Grant Marlowe! Just what in hellfire do you think you’re doin‘ bustin’ in here? I oughta shoot you just for the scare you gimme!”

  “Damn—I knocked—first!” he slurred. “Whyn’t you answer?”

  “You didn’t gimme a chance to! And you’re drunk!” she yelled, further enraged.

  “Yes, ma’am—I’m drunk,” he replied. “With—with good reason.”

  He sounded like a proud little boy. Relief finally taking over, Angela began to laugh. She placed the gun down carefully on the table by the bed, wrapped the sheet firmly about herself, then leaned over to light the candle.

  Grant shielded his eyes from the sudden light, then squinted at her from the middle of the room where he swayed. She moved past him to the door and closed it quietly, then leaned back against it.

  “Now tell me what you thought you were doing, busting into my room in the middle of the night?”

  “I tol‘ you I—I knocked first. I got worried when you didn’t answer—”

  “Never mind, Grant,” she cut him off. “Just tell me what you’re doing here. I thought you’d left for the ranch this morning.”

  “I did.”

  She sighed. He was having trouble keeping his balance, so she helped him to the chair by her bed. He collapsed gratefully into it.

  She stood looking down at him like a scolding mother. “If you left this morning, then why did you come back?”

  “To see—you.”

  “Why?”

  “Was drinkin‘ on the way. Got—to thinkin’—had to try once more,” he said, holding up a finger to make himself clear.

  “Try what once more?” she asked, becoming exasperated.

  He smiled boyishly. “To get you to marry me. Couldn’t leave—you here alone.”

  “Oh, Grant! Honestly!” she said, shaking her head. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Marry me.”

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him with gentle eyes. “Grant, the answer is still no. I do not intend to marry you or any other man—ever.”

  “But you need someone,” Grant replied after her words had sunk in.

  “I do not need any man!” she yelled defiantly. “I am capable of taking care of myself!”

  Hoping to change the subject, she asked, “Did you get yourself a room before you stormed up here?”

  “No,” he replied with a sheepish grin.

  She sighed. “Very well. Since you’re in no condition to go anywhere right now, you can stay here. I’ll go down to see about getting another room for myself for the rest of the night.”

  He grabbed her hand and held it. “Angela, stay here with me. I won’t—”

  “No, Grant,” she replied firmly and started to tug on his arm. “Now come on and I’ll help you into bed.”

  He let her pull him the few feet to the bed. Then she helped him out of his heavy jacket and shirt, and managed to yank off his boots. When she pulled the cover up over him, he grabbed her hand again and looked at her with yearning.

  “One kiss—before you go,” he ventured, holding her hand to his cheek.

  “If that’s what it takes to make you go to sleep,” she replied.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over to kiss him. She felt his arms wrap around her and press her closer to him, but she didn’t pull away. The kiss was pleasant.

  Angela didn’t hear when the door to her room slowly opened. Nor did she sense the presence of the man who stood in the doorway, watching her for a long moment. But she did hear the door when it closed, and she pulled away from Grant’s embrace to look in that direction.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  She looked back at him and smiled. “Nothing. I thought I heard something, but I guess I was mistaken.” She tucked the covers about his neck and smoothed the hair on his forehead. “Now go to sleep, Grant. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Chapter 34

  BRADFORD Maitland returned to Mobile to learn that his father was dead.

  A dock worker, a congenial man who assumed Bradford already knew, relayed the news by way of condolence as Bradford stepped off the packet. The torment of the last few weeks became even more bitter because he had not been there when his father died. There was deep sorrow and a smoldering rage as well inside Bradford as he rode out to Golden Oaks.

  It was midmorning, but the mansion was eerily quiet when he entered it. His eyes were a golden blaze of yellow as he scanned the hall to find that all the doors were open, except one. He went directly to his father’s study and opened the door with such force that it slammed back against the wall, knocking loose a large picture that fell to the floor with a crash.

  Zachary Maitland jumped to his feet. He had been sitting at his father’s desk, and he stepped quickly behind the chair, as though the desk and chair would afford him protection.

  There was sheer terror on his handsome face as he watched his brother walk slowly into the study.

  “How did it happen?” Bradford’s words were slow and even.

  “It was his heart, Brad,” Zachary replied appeasingly, his eyes wide. “Nothing could be done.”

  “How did it happen?” Bradford repeated his question, his voice raised slightly.

  “It was another attack!” Zachary shouted now, as if he were defending his life.

  And indeed he was. For, at that moment, Bradford felt an overwhelming desire to kill someone, and he didn’t much care who it was. He crossed to Zachary swiftly and hooked his hands into his brother’s coat lapels.

  “You caused the first attack!” Bradford said with calculating fury, watching Zachary’s eyes grow huge in surprise and fear. “Now, brother, you will tell me what caused the attack that took his life!”

  “It—it just happened!” Zachary stuttered. “There was nothing anyone—”

  “Do you think I am an idiot?” Bradford cut in. “You will tell me the truth—now—or by God I’ll beat it out of you!”

  “All right—all right, Bradford!” Zachary cried, his face losing its color. “But it was an accident—I swear it! How were we to know that Father was at the top of the stairs— that he could hear us arguing?”

  “We?”

  “Crystal and—and me. Father was supposed to be taking a nap, as Dr. Scarron suggested he do each afternoon since—since—well, you know. You were here.”

  “Yes, I quite remember how upset Father became over his ward’s disappearance,” Bradford remarked distastefully.

  He released his hold on Zachary and walked slowly over to his father’s liquor cabinet.

  “All right, Zachary,” Bradford said as he filled a tall glass with straight Bourbon. “I want to hear all of it now, and it had damn well better be the truth.”

  Zachary stood frozen to the spot. He cleared his throat nervously. “Well, as I said, Crystal and I were having an argument. We had been in the drawing room, but somehow we ended up in the hall—I followed her—yes—because s
he said she had no more to say and was going to her room, but—I stopped her in the hall. We didn’t know Father was at the top of the stairs—that he could hear.”

  “You’re trying my patience, Zachary!” Bradford interrupted. “Husbands and wives argue occasionally. What has that to do with Father’s attack?”

  “It was what we were arguing about, Bradford. Or rather—who we were arguing about,” Zachary replied in a weak voice, avoiding his brother’s cold regard.

  Bradford drained his glass as if it were filled with spring water. But the fiery liquid seemed to add a brighter fire to his eyes as they bore into Zachary’s.

  “I presume you mean Angela?” Bradford asked, though he knew the answer.

  “Yes, it was about Angela. Crystal showed me that letter she found—Charissa Sherrington’s letter. She told me she’d read it to you, but needn’t have gone to the trouble, since Angela ran off with Grant Marlowe. She said Angela had been your mistress after she’d tired of Robert, and that’s why you went after her. Crystal threw all this in my face to explain why she wouldn’t let me—why she wouldn’t conceive children in this house—a house of incest.”

  “My God!” Bradford exclaimed, his body going rigid. “And Father heard all this?”

  “Yes. We heard him collapse then. He—”

  “Did he fall down the stairs?” Bradford interrupted.

  “No, but he was dead when we reached him.”

  “So Crystal’s jealousy and hate killed my father!” Bradford’s voice was only a whisper, but filled with such intensity that Zachary trembled.

  “For God’s sake, Bradford! It was an accident. Don’t you think I regret it? And Crystal does too! I—I beat her that night. It was something I should have done a long time ago. She has stayed to her room ever since, except for the funeral.”

  “Which was when?”

  “A week ago,” Zachary replied, his eyes downcast. “We couldn’t wait. We didn’t know when you would return.”

  A tense silence fell between them. Bradford stood by the liquor cabinet, the empty glass still clenched in his hand. His hard gaze no longer rested on his brother, but on his father’s desk. Zachary could only guess at half the murderous thoughts that filled his mind.

  Zachary finally spoke again, unable to bear the ominous quiet. “Father’s will hasn’t been read yet.” When Bradford didn’t look at him, he went on quickly. “Jim McLaughlin is executor. Seems Father made a new will the day Jim arrived here. It wasn’t necessary for you to be present, but we all agreed to wait until you came back.”

  “How thoughtful,” Bradford remarked coldly and started for the door. Without once looking back at his brother, he continued, “Have it done with this afternoon. I’m not staying in this house any longer than I have to.” And then he was gone, leaving Zachary giddy with relief, but still trembling.

  Chapter 35

  JIM McLaughlin cleared his throat and looked slowly around the room to be sure that all who had been summoned were present. He was wishing that Jacob Maitland had not made him executor.

  Bradford, especially, would not be happy with some of the conditions of the will. Jacob had asserted his power even beyond death.

  Two of Jacob’s beneficiaries would not be present today. His mistress would not force herself on his grieving family. And Angela Sherrington had disappeared.

  Jim sighed. He would have to find Miss Sherrington before his job would be over with. He hoped Bradford had been successful in discovering her whereabouts on his trip West. He would have to talk to him about that later.

  “If there are no objections, I will begin,” Jim began.

  “First, I would like to say that this last will and testament is wholly legal.” He read:

  I, Jacob Maitland, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, and not acting under duress, coercion, or undue influence of any person whomsoever, do make and declare this instrument as my last will and testament, hereby revoking all wills and codicils previously made by me.

  First: I direct that all debts owed me shall not be canceled with my death, but shall henceforth be owed to my son, Bradford Maitland.

  Second: To certain colleges that I...

  Bradford let his mind wander while Jim McLaughlin read off the colleges, charities and institutions, employees, friends, and the like. Bradford thought of the brief hour he had spent with Candise and Robert, listening to the details of the funeral and their account of Jacob’s death. Zachary had apparently not told them the real cause of his father’s death.

  Bradford had already decided to turn over Golden Oaks and the plantation to Zachary, if indeed his father had left that decision to him. He never wanted to see Golden Oaks again. Too many recent memories were here, memories that only fueled his rage. He didn’t know exactly what he would do now. He wanted to go to Texas, to the ranch he loved, but that was impossible now.

  Tenth: To my housekeeper, Hannah, who has been a loyal and trusted servant, I bequeath the sum of five thousand dollars, and the two acres of land known as Willow Farm, to which she may retire at any time henceforth, or retain her position at Goldens Oaks for as long as she wishes.

  Bradford smiled at Hannah’s stunned expression. Father was always generous with those who served him.

  Eleventh: I bequeath the sum of five hundred thousand dollars to Zachary Maitland, and an additional twenty thousand dollars to be allocated each year for the remainder of his life, and the Hotel Rush located in London, England, and to any legitimate offspring that he shall sire, the sum of five thousand dollars each year for female offspring; the sum of ten thousand dollars each year for male offspring, to be kept in trust until said offspring become of age.

  Twelfth: I bequeath the sum of five thousand dollars to Crystal Maitland, to be allocated each year for the remainder of her life, with the stipulation that she bear a legitimate offspring within two years after my death.

  Bradford smiled when he heard Crystal gasp. He noted that Zachary was smiling, too. Crystal would now have to submit to her husband in bed—rather like a paid whore, Bradford thought with dry humor.

  He realized suddenly that he no longer hated Zachary, but pitied him. Bradford was thankful now that Zachary had taken the conniving bitch off his hands. To think he had actually loved Crystal once!

  He smiled again as Jim continued, leaving ten thousand dollars a year to the widow Caden, his father’s faithful mistress, and a like sum to Robert Lonsdale, who had been almost a third son. But everything turned red in his mind when Angela Sherrington’s name was pronounced. He didn’t hear Jim’s words, or Hannah’s gleeful chuckle at the back of the room, or Crystal’s second loud gasp. Bradford heard none of this as the picture of Angela flashed across his mind, a loose sheet wrapped around her naked body, Grant’s arms about her, her lips clinging to his. Bitch! Whore! Had they just finished making love, or were they just about to? It didn’t matter. He should have killed them both as he had wanted to when he opened the door and found them in bed together.

  What had she said once? “You are going to have to trust me more than you do, Bradford,” and “I’ll never leave you again. It’s you I love—no other.” The lying slut! Bradford Maitland would never trust another woman as long as he lived.

  “Well, Bradford, it’s all yours now. How does it feel to be a millionaire?”

  Bradford glanced up, Jim McLaughlin’s question breaking into his thoughts. He saw that they were alone in the study now. The reading of his father’s will was over.

  “It feels no different than it’s always felt,” Bradford replied, bored. “It’s a waste of money to have so much of it.”

  Jim McLaughlin couldn’t complain about his own state of affairs. Being one of Maitland Enterprises’ most important lawyers, his yearly income was substantial. He was well on the way to becoming a millionaire himself.

  “At any rate,” Jim continued in his business voice, “I have here a copy of your father’s will, as well as a detailed list of all his holdings. No doubt you are a
lready aware of all that Maitland Enterprises encompasses, having been in control of your father’s interests for many years now. But your father believed that land was wealth and he acquired quite a bit of it over the years. As a matter of fact, you now own properties all over the world.”

  “Properties that I will probably never even see,” Bradford said.

  “Does that really matter?” Jim asked. “Most of these properties bring in sizable incomes, and they provide jobs for many. You have hardly taken an attitude your father would approve of.”

  “I suppose I haven’t,” Bradford replied. “But I find there is no longer any challenge in making money, when I already have more than enough of it. What if I should give it all away and make my own fortune?”

  “I’m afraid you can’t do that,” Jim said firmly. “As it states in your father’s will, all of his holdings must remain in the family. They can be sold, of course, but not given away. And if you choose to relinquish your inheritance, then it will all go to Zachary.”

  Bradford gritted his teeth. No, it would not go to Zachary, not as long as Crystal was his wife. He would have to resign himself to being in complete control of the Maitland millions, just as his father had wished.

  “What are your plans now, Bradford?”

  “I suppose my only course is to leave for New York tomorrow morning. I might as well get back into the business,” Bradford said reluctantly.

  “So you no longer plan to control things from Texas?” Jim ventured.

  “No!” Bradford replied quickly and a bit harshly, his eyes suddenly turning amber.

  Jim eyed the brooding young man carefully. Something was definitely troubling Bradford, and he was in no mood to be questioned about it. Jim had expected Bradford to fly into a rage when he heard the conditions of his inheritance. But Bradford hadn’t appeared to be listening.

  “Well, I will be returning to New York myself, just as soon as I can find Miss Sherrington,” Jim said as he stood up from behind Jacob’s desk. “Did you have any luck discovering her whereabouts?”