A branch from a shrub slapped her in the face, and she shoved it out of the way, but it slowed her down. Lieutenant North disappeared ahead of her. She put on an extra burst of speed but still saw no sign of his back. The scream came again, and the sound galvanized her even more.
She leaped over a rock in her way, but instead of landing on her feet on the other end, something hard hit her back. Her breath whooshed out of her. Her arms pinwheeled out, but the heavy weight bore her to the ground. Her head plowed into the ferns, then her face pressed into moist moss. The fecund scent of the forest filled her head, and she struggled against the weight squeezing the breath from her lungs. A burlap sack smelling of oranges came around her head, and the suffocating darkness gave her new reason to fight. She flailed until someone grabbed her arms.
“Don’t move,” a voice hissed in her ear.
A cold blade touched her throat, and she froze. She didn’t recognize the voice behind the threatening tone. It was a man, but that was all she knew. Calloused hands roped her wrists together behind her back, then the pressure atop her was gone. She heard steps swish through the vegetation. The normal sounds of the forest resumed—birds chirping in the trees and insects humming. She rolled to her back, then sat up. With her hands tied, she had to make two attempts before she gained her feet. The burlap sack was still over her head. She stumbled to a tree, then moved her head against the rough bark until she managed to rub off the offending burlap.
The scent of the forest washed the orange aroma from her nose. She would need help getting the rope off. And what about the scream she’d heard? Gathering her strength, she ran for the house.
The rope chafed her wrists, and Addie was near tears by the time she emerged from the shadows of the redwoods. She stood blinking in the brilliant wash of light until her eyes adjusted, then she started toward the back door of the house. She hurried in case her attacker was still watching. Was someone else hurt? The scream she’d heard reverberated in her head.
“Lieutenant North?” she called.
The backyard appeared empty, but she called again. She longed to have her hands free again and to feel safe. A woodpecker’s rat-a-tattat echoed in the open yard. The sound unnerved her, and she broke into a run. Perspiration moistened her forehead as she rounded the side yard and saw Mr. Driscoll lying on the ground. Mrs. Eaton stood nearby, wringing her hands. Lieutenant North knelt beside Driscoll on his right, and Mr. Eaton was on his knees on Driscoll’s other side. Several servants with pale faces clustered on the porch.
“Lieutenant North?” she said in a faltering voice. “What’s happened?”
Lieutenant North glanced up. “There has been a vicious attack on Walter,” he said. “Someone struck him in the head, then vanished.”
“Will he be all right?”
“The doctor is on his way.”
She drew nearer. “I was also attacked.”
“You are unharmed?”
“Yes, though my hands are tied.” She turned around so he could see her bonds, then faced him again.
Lieutenant North had her turn around, and he struggled with the knot at her wrists. His hands were cool and dry, but her skin tingled where he touched her. Her gaze lingered on Driscoll. The poor man lay motionless and pale on his side. His eyes were closed. She saw no blood, so perhaps the blow was only enough to render him unconscious. Moments later, the rope fell to the ground by Addie’s feet.
“Thank you,” Addie said. She rubbed her wrists and turned back toward the group huddled around Mr. Driscoll. “How badly is he hurt?”
“He hasn’t moved,” Mr. Eaton said.
She inspected Driscoll’s pale face. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Not unless you hold a medical degree,” Lieutenant North said.
“I’ve often tended to shipwreck victims until the doctor arrived,” she said. “I’m quite competent.”
He moved back. “Very well, then.”
She pushed past him and knelt beside the older man. When she touched his face, she found it cold. “He needs a blanket,” she said.
“I’ll get it,” Mrs. Eaton said, rushing for the door as if eager to flee the scene.
She felt along Mr. Driscoll’s head. “There is a lump here,” she said, probing the spot. “He’s bleeding.” She wiped the blood on her fingers onto the grass.
Mr. Driscoll stirred, and she realized he likely felt the pain of having the wound depressed. He moaned and tried to push himself erect.
“Please lie still, sir,” she said.
Mrs. Eaton returned with a quilt in her arms. She tucked it around her brother, then backed away. “Oh dear, where is the doctor?” she muttered.
A horse neighed, and Addie saw a carriage come rushing up the drive. “Is that the doctor?”
“Yes.” Lieutenant North waved to the white-haired man holding the reins. “Here, Dr. Lambertson.”
The man leaped from the seat with a black bag in his hand before the buggy had fully stopped. He wore black pants and a white shirt under a vest. His bowler was askew as if he’d grabbed it and jammed it on his head without looking. “Mr. Driscoll was attacked?”
“He’s unconscious. We didn’t move him.”
The doctor’s expression grew more sober as he knelt beside his patient. “A good decision, but I’m going to have to roll him over to tend to his injury. I shall require your assistance. Slide your hands under his buttocks, and I’ll do the same with his shoulders.”
Lieutenant North complied, and the men gently rolled Mr. Driscoll onto his stomach. The large lump on the back of his head oozed blood, and his hair was matted with it. She heard a sigh and and turned to see Mrs. Eaton crumple.
Addie sprang forward but was too late to catch her aunt. “Bring me a wet handkerchief,” she called to Molly. The maid nodded and rushed for the house.
Addie pulled Mrs. Eaton’s head onto her lap. “Mrs. Eaton?” she whispered, stroking her hair. Poor woman. Molly returned with the wet hankie, and Addie dampened the prostrate woman’s pale face with it.
Mrs. Eaton’s eyelids fluttered, then she opened them. “My brother,” she murmured. “Is he dead?”
“No, no. The doctor is tending to him.” Addie stroked the wet cloth across Mrs. Eaton’s forehead again. The doctor worked at staunching her uncle’s blood.
Maybe she shouldn’t have come. She already cared about her new family, and the last thing she wanted was to thrust them all into danger. Someone wanted to keep her away, and it appeared that person was dangerous.
EIGHT
THE SUN HAD touched the tops of the redwoods by the time the doctor announced that Mr. Driscoll could be moved inside. After John assisted his uncle-in-law to a four-poster bed, he strode down the sweeping staircase in search of Miss Sullivan. Two attacks in one day disturbed him.
He found her in the solarium by Clara’s prize azaleas. The greenery framed her and complemented the red glints in her thick hair, now sedately contained with pins and combs. Her face was turned toward the window, and he stood a moment and studied her. There was more to her arrival than he’d been told. Unidentifiable currents pulsed between her and Driscoll. He couldn’t get past the thought that she might be Driscoll’s doxy even though he couldn’t quite see this freshfaced girl in the demure gown on Driscoll’s arm. Nor could he see the straitlaced Driscoll carrying on with such a young woman. The pharmacist took pains to conduct himself respectably in the community.
She put down the book in her hand. “Lieutenant North,” she said, her voice wary. “How is Mr. Driscoll?”
“Resting.” He dropped into the wicker chair opposite her settee. “I wanted to find out more about the attack on you. What happened after I left you?”
“I started back toward the manor right behind you. Someone tackled me from behind and jammed a burlap sack over my head so I couldn’t see.”
“A man?”
She nodded. “It was a man’s voice.”
“What did he say?”
“He to
ld me not to move. When he put a knife blade against my neck, I obeyed.”
John frowned and leaned forward to look at the ivory skin above her blouse. “He cut you?”
She shook her head. “No. He merely tied me up, then ran off.”
“Seems strange two attackers would be on the property at the same time,” he muttered.
“Perhaps it was the same person. He struck Mr. Driscoll, then ran into the woods and attacked me.”
He nodded. “Likely scenario. But for what reason?” He studied the curve of her cheeks and that lustrous hair. He wondered what it would feel like.
“There you are,” Eaton’s jovial voice broke into their conversation. “How is Walter?”
“Recovering, with Clara’s solicitous attention,” John said.
Eaton pulled up another wicker chair. He glanced from John to Addie. “Is something wrong?”
“Miss Sullivan was attacked today as well.”
Eaton’s eyes widened. “You are all right?”
“Yes, sir. He encased my head in a burlap bag, then tied my hands.” She held them out. A faint red line still showed on the translucent skin.
John noticed the color had drained from her cheeks. “Are you frightened, Miss Sullivan?”
She tilted up her chin. “Not exactly afraid, Lieutenant North. I am concerned for Edward, though, if there is even the remote possibility something dangerous is going on.”
“I’ve been considering that myself. Perhaps we should go home, where we have close neighbors and the police are within minutes of the house.”
“Where is home?” she asked.
“Near the naval base in San Francisco. I’m only staying until after Henry’s birthday in order to allow my son to adjust to the changes.”
“I’ll be leaving with you?”
Why did she sound dismayed? He studied her downcast face. “Of course. It would be difficult to teach Edward from here.”
“Mr. Driscoll didn’t mention it,” she said.
“I don’t think we should assume there is any ongoing danger,” Eaton said. “There’s no need for you to take Edward and leave. It might simply have been a robber who attacked Walter. When he fled, he ran into Miss Sullivan.”
John frowned at his father-in-law. “We have no way of knowing what really happened. I’m not sure I want to run the risk to my son.”
Eaton picked up a paperweight and tossed it from hand to hand. “There is no need to react and change plans at this late date. Walter is injured. I’ll need your assistance more than ever. Besides, Miss Sullivan is needed to help Clara with her gown for the ball.”
“That’s hardly my concern,” John said. “Edward is my priority.”
“As he is mine. I want only the best for my grandson. That includes having him here where I can care for him.”
“Whatever you decide is fine, Lieutenant North,” Miss Sullivan said.
He wondered again about her relationship with Walter. “Very well, Henry, I’ll stay for now. But if anything else out of the ordinary happens, I will pack up Edward and take him home.” He kept eye contact with Eaton.
Eaton’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t remark on John’s tone. “Fair enough,” he said, rising from the chair. The sound of his footsteps faded on the redwood floors.
John turned his attention back to Addie. She glanced out the window at the dark yard. “I’d hoped to retrieve my book from the woods. It’s too dark now.”
She was still pale. Her wide eyes revealed her stress. “The book will survive the night. You should get some rest.”
“Mr. Eaton seems more concerned that you might leave than he was about Mr. Driscoll’s injuries.”
“He does love the boy,” he said. “Even if his condition embarrasses him at times.”
“The epilepsy is not Edward’s fault!”
“No, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish his grandson were whole and normal.”
She winced. “I wish I could help him.”
“So do I.”
She locked eyes with him. “I’d like us to be friends. A team committed to doing what’s best for Edward.”
He smiled at the innocence of her remark. While he sensed something more going on than what he knew now, he didn’t doubt her naïveté. “A friend is always welcome,” he said.
When had he ever heard a woman be so open with her feelings? He couldn’t help it. He liked Miss Adeline Sullivan.
A smile hovered on Addie’s lips when she left Lieutenant North. He might not completely trust her, but she would prove herself to him. She rubbed her sore wrists, and her smile faded as she looked at the red marks still on the pale skin.
She hadn’t had time to consider the assault and what it meant. Nor the attack on Mr. Driscoll. Could her father’s enemy have recognized her already and be trying to drive her away? And to silence Mr. Driscoll? She sighed and opened the door to her room, but the empty space repelled her. Gideon didn’t come to greet her with his wet nose. Retreating, she retraced her footsteps down the hall to Edward’s room. The lad lay on top of the covers in his nightshirt. She pulled the sheet over him and beckoned her dog.
Gideon rose from his post on the rug by the bed. He yawned, then trotted to her side. She petted him until they were both soothed, then tiptoed out. Mr. Driscoll’s door was open when she passed, and she peeked inside to see him propped on pillows.
He gestured for her to come in. “I just sent the maid to ask you to come see me.”
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Come closer so I don’t have to raise my voice.”
She peered down the hall, then stepped into the bedroom. Logs had been laid in the fireplace but weren’t lit. She seated herself on the chair beside the hissing gaslight. She folded her hands in her lap and prayed for this to be over so she could retire. She was unutterably weary.
“I heard someone attacked you also, child. Is this true?”
“Yes, sir. In the woods. He put a burlap bag over my head and tied my hands.” She showed him her wrists.
He fingered his temple. “He didn’t hit you?”
“No.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Don’t move.’ But he put a knife blade to my neck.”
“That’s all?”
She turned up the wick on the gaslight so she could see better. “I suspect it was the same man who attacked you, and he happened to stumble into me. I believe he wanted only to slow me down so he could escape.”
Mr. Driscoll blinked, and his hands dropped back to the sheet. “Have you talked to anyone at all about your past?”
“No, sir. When would I have had time?”
“The attacks must be related,” he said.
“Is this normally a safe area?”
“Very safe. We’ve never had a break-in at Eaton Manor.”
“Did your attacker take your wallet or anything else?”
He shook his head. “It’s all accounted for.”
Addie studied his pallid face. He could easily have been killed. “Do you have any idea what was behind the attack?”
He pointed to the glass on the bedside table. “May I have a drink?”
Was he stalling having to answer her? “Of course.” She lifted the glass to his lips and let him take a sip.
“Thanks.” His head fell back against the pillow. “I didn’t tell Henry, but I think the attacker intended murder. He had a knife, as you know.”
She put her hand to her throat. “How did you escape him?”
“I kicked the knife out of his hand. He shoved me, and I fell back into the tree. Clara came out onto the porch and began to scream as he came toward me. I think her presence prevented him from finishing the job. He grabbed his knife and ran off into the forest.”
“You think the attacker wanted to kill you because you brought me here?”
His intent gaze held hers. “I’m a pharmacist and well liked. No one has so much as held up my drugstore.”
“W
hy didn’t the man try to kill me, too, then?” she asked, her head spinning with questions. “He merely threatened me until he could tie me up. I was an easy mark if he intended murder.”
He picked at the sheet. “I don’t know,” he said after a long pause. “Maybe he thought it would cause the police to dig into your background and the truth would come out.”
“There’s nothing to be found if someone investigates me. Even those in Crescent City know me as the lightkeeper’s daughter.” She rubbed her eyes. “Have you heard from your investigator yet?”
“I received a call this morning. The attorney’s office that processed the funds sent to your parents was destroyed by the Great Fire. All records were lost, so my investigator can’t find out anything by examining them. I’d hoped he could bribe someone to let him look at the records without involving the attorney.”
“Oh no! Will we be able to find any proof?”
“If he can locate the attorney, my agent might be able to persuade him to reveal the story, but that’s a long shot. If not, the locket and your resemblance will have to do.”
“What resemblance?”
He pointed to a painting over the fireplace that she’d paid little attention to. “Look at that picture of Laura.”
She rose and stepped to the painting. Her mother. Addie had longed to see what she looked like, but she hadn’t yet found a photograph. She drank it in. “Her hair is redder than mine. And she has green eyes.” The woman’s demure smile said she knew she was beautiful. And she was. Lustrous red hair lay coiled at the nape of her neck. The turquoise gown she wore accentuated the depth of her eyes.
Some dim memory struggled to bubble to the forefront of her memory. Soft hands, a sweet voice. Words of love. “She’s much more beautiful than I,” Addie whispered.
“Look beyond her more vivid coloring. Notice the shape of her nose, the fullness of her lips, the dimple in her right cheek. The similarities are subtle, but they’re there if one knows where to look.”
“Many people have dimples.” Her fingers pressed the outline of the locket under her bodice.
“Perhaps it’s easier for me to see because I loved Laura. You have her smile.”