The Scandalous Miss Howard Read online

  Bones was very careful not to arouse her suspicions, but he took great pains to run into Laurette with increasing regularity. The first time he bumped into her was at the downtown market. She was friendly enough and put up no protest when he offered to see her home.

  Wisely, he spoke only of the weather, of her work at the hospital, of the rising price of the vegetables she had just purchased.

  He never mentioned Ladd’s name.

  A couple of days later, Bones happened to be walking past the hospital when Laurette came down the steps. Again, he saw her home. Again he didn’t mention Ladd.

  Laurette liked Bones, had liked him from the first time she met him. He was a good, kind man and as the winter winds blew and she worked longer hours at the hospital and darkness fell early, she was glad to see him when she came out of the hospital. To have him escort her safely home.

  On a cold, gray afternoon in early December, Bones was waiting outside the hospital. Laurette smiled when she saw him. Bones protectively took her arm and walked her home as the winter darkness descended.

  But this time, he didn’t say good evening and leave her at the door. When they stepped onto the veranda, Bones said, “Let me come inside for a few minutes. I want to talk to you.”

  Laurette looked up at him skeptically. She knew what he wanted to talk about and she didn’t want to hear it. She began to shake her head.

  “I’m sorry, Bones. But, no. I know your intention, but nothing you can say or do will change my mind about Ladd.”

  “That’s entirely up to you,” he said, “but there’s so much that you don’t know. So much you should know. So much that the modest Ladd would never tell you. Would never tell anyone.”

  Laurette frowned, but he ignored her. And not taking no for an answer, he followed her inside. He hung his topcoat on the coat tree and went directly into the drawing room where he lit a lamp and built a fire in the grate.

  Laurette sighed in defeat, took off her wrap, hung it on the coat tree, and followed him into the drawing room. She stretched her hands out to the warmth of the fire and said, “You’re a good, loyal friend, Bones, but you’re wasting your time.”

  “It’s mine to waste,” he said. “Why don’t you sit down?” When she made no move to do so, he took her arm and guided her to the sofa that faced the fireplace. Laurette sat down and crossed her arms over her chest, not wanting to listen to what he had to say. Nothing he could tell her would change her mind about the unscrupulous Ladd Dasheroon.

  Bones did not sit down. He stood by the fireplace, facing Laurette. And he began to talk. To tell her about the years that Ladd had spent in prison.

  “Ladd had it awfully rough in Devil’s Castle,” he stated firmly. “The Captain of the Guards was a sadistic man who had known Ladd at West Point and had made Ladd’s life hard at the academy. You can well imagine how he treated Ladd in prison. He singled Ladd out for punishment. Ladd was starved, tortured, beaten and even branded by the guard.”

  Laurette’s lips parted and her eyes widened slightly. She recalled the scar on Ladd’s bare buttock. When she’d mentioned it to him, he’d said it was a birthmark.

  “He was lucky to live through the kind of cruel abuse the evil LaKid meted out.”

  “LaKid?” she repeated, thinking out loud. “The guard’s name was LaKid.”

  “Yes, Gilbert LaKid. Why?”

  “No reason. Just an unusual name,” she said, shrugging slender shoulders, vividly remembering the first time she’d spent the night at the beach house. Ladd had awakened from a terrible nightmare shouting, “I’ll kill you, LaKid.”

  Bones continued, “After a hellish year, Ladd was overjoyed when Major James Tigart was awarded the top position at Devil’s Castle. Naturally, Ladd assumed that his old boyhood friend would call off the cruel guard and that his days in prison would be easier.” Bones looked at Laurette to see if she was paying attention. She was, but she showed absolutely no emotion. She knew what was coming next. “Ladd’s life didn’t get better, it got much worse. Tigart’s first order as prison commandant was to throw Ladd in the deepest dungeon, where Ladd stayed for the next eleven long, lonely years.”

  “But how could that be?” Laurette asked. “The war ended in ’65 and—”

  “Tigart had Ladd charged with a serious crime against the government. Labeled him a dangerous political prisoner. So Ladd was not released when the war ended—was never to be released.”

  “What was Ladd’s crime?”

  “Ladd committed no crime. Tigart lied. He meant for Ladd to die in prison.”

  “Jimmy told me that Ladd had died in Devil’s Castle. He said Ladd died shortly before he came to the prison to take command. Said that if only he’d been there before Ladd died, he would have put his name at the top of the prisoner exchange list.”

  “Tigart lied so that you would marry him.”

  Laurette released a weary sigh. “Dear lord, I didn’t know Ladd was alive, I swear it.”

  As if she hadn’t spoken, Bones asked, “Did Ladd tell you how he learned about your marriage?”

  “No. No, he didn’t,” she said.

  “He didn’t find out that you had married the man who so coldly betrayed him until years after the wedding took place. One day the guards tossed the page of a yellowing newspaper on the floor of Ladd’s cell, then forked a piece of rancid meat atop it for Ladd’s meal. It was the society page of an old copy of the Mobile Press from June 9, 1865. Your wedding announcement was in it.”

  Bones waited for her response. She said nothing. But he could see the brief flicker of pity in her dark eyes. Pity for the poor, lonely Ladd learning that she had married Jimmy.

  “You can well imagine how he felt, how hurt and heartsick he was,” said Bones. “And why he vowed to get even with Tigart. And, yes, with you as well.” Laurette did not comment; she was determined to remain completely composed, to act as if she didn’t care what had happened to Ladd.

  Bones continued trying to reach her. “Ladd finally escaped by sewing himself in a dead man’s shroud. He and a fellow prisoner had found each other by tunneling from one cell to the other. Both were so lonely they were about to lose their minds, so they quickly became good friends. The older man, Finis Schafer, counseled Ladd, educated him in history, philosophy, art, music and the theater. And, he told Ladd of a shipment of Yankee gold that he had stolen and buried. The two decided to tunnel their way to freedom. They worked hard, but it took too long. The older man got sick and died. Before he died, he told Ladd where he had buried the gold. When he passed away, Ladd moved his friend’s body into his own cell, went into the dead man’s cell, sewed himself into the shroud and let the guards bury him.”

  Bones paused and stared at her. Surely that would get a response. It did not. She sat there on the sofa with her arms folded and her face set.

  “When the guards had buried him and returned to Devil’s Castle, Ladd fought his way out of the shallow grave, shed the shroud and jumped into Chesapeake Bay so that prison bloodhounds wouldn’t catch his scent. Trouble was, the poor, emaciated bastard was so weak and sick, he couldn’t continue to swim. He kept going under. So he headed for the banks, but was too tired and weak to pull himself up. He knew he was going to die, to drown.”

  “Obviously, he didn’t,” was all she said.

  “No, he didn’t. And that’s were I came in. I was having troubles of my own and had decided to end it all. My intent was to jump into the icy waters of the bay and die. But I saw this pour soul struggling, so I reached down and saved him.” Bones smiled then and said, “We saved each other that day. So you can see why I’m fond of him.”

  Laurette merely nodded.

  Bones continued to talk for the next half hour, to tell Laurette how he’d pulled the freezing Ladd from the water and nursed him back to health. How the two of them had searched for and found the Yankee gold.

  He talked and talked and when finally he stopped, Laurette rose and said, “It’s getting late.”

&n
bsp; “Yes, yes, I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’m sorry,” the big man apologized and headed for the foyer. He was disappointed. He had hoped—truly believed—that if Laurette learned all that had happened to Ladd, knew how badly he had suffered, she might soften. He was wrong. He could tell by her manner that she was not moved. Ladd was right. She was never going to forgive him.

  Hurriedly shoving his muscular arms into the sleeves of his topcoat, Bones was taken aback when Laurette softly asked, “Bones, why did you want to die that day you saved Ladd?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I was a long time ago. I’m fine now.”

  “Please,” she said and touched his forearm, “tell me.”

  Bones closed his eyes and then opened them. In a clear, deep voice he said, “I had lost my wife and child. I was a seaman back then and I was out at sea when my sweet Amanda, pregnant with our first child, went into early labor. She delivered my son, but he lived only a few hours. Amanda died minutes later. I wanted to die with them.”

  “Oh, Bones,” Laurette said, genuinely touched, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he said with a smile. “Amanda brought me great happiness, bless her sweet heart. I am blessed, for I have known a love that few are fortunate enough to find.” He pointedly looked at her and said, “When you find a love like that, you should—”

  “I’m really quite tired,” she said, cutting him off.

  He understood. “I’m going,” he replied. “But after I’m gone, when you’re alone, you think about what I’ve told you today. I don’t expect anything I’ve said to change your mind, but maybe it will at least help you understand why Ladd did what he did.”

  “No, no it won’t,” she stated emphatically. “While I sympathize with what he endured, I will never forgive him for what he’s done to me.” Her dark eyes grew wintry and she told the big man, “As you know all too well, Ladd Dasheroon is not the only person on earth who has ever had to suffer.”

  Bones nodded and headed for the front door. He opened it, started to step outside, paused in the portal and turned back to look at her. His florid face a study in frustration, he said, “Just let me say one last thing and then I’ll go.”

  “Yes?”

  “Ladd loves you very much.”

  “That,” Laurette said coldly, “is his misfortune.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Laurette Howard Tigart had always possessed a defiant pride and rebellious strength. That innate pride and strength had seen her through numerous troubles and tragedies through the years. She had survived her share of loss and loneliness and would continue to survive and press on despite this latest heartbreak.

  Laurette had convinced herself that when she’d told Ladd he was dead to her, she meant it. Still, she hadn’t been entirely unmoved by all that Bones had told her about Ladd’s terrible years in prison. And she could fully understand that it had broken Ladd’s heart when he had learned—in the cruelest possible way—that she had married Jimmy.

  Fate had definitely been unkind to Ladd.

  But then it had been unkind to her, as well, and she couldn’t bring herself to forget or forgive the fact that Ladd had returned to Mobile with the sole purpose of further hurting and humiliating her.

  Laurette had told no one that the man claiming to be Sutton Vane was actually Ladd Dasheroon. All she had said—when pressed—was that she and Sutton Vane had mutually agreed to no longer see each other. The Parlange twins begged her to tell them what had happened to cause the breakup, but she had not been forthcoming. Furthermore she let them know, in no uncertain terms, that she didn’t want to hear Sutton Vane’s name spoken in her presence ever again.

  Apparently Ladd had told no one else of his true identity, because she heard whispered gossip about the now mysteriously reclusive Sutton Vane. It was said that the only time he left his Government Street mansion was to slip away to his private island getaway. The gentry was puzzled by his uncharacteristic, antisocial behavior. There were those who were bold enough to question Laurette about it. She assured them that she had no idea why Mr. Vane chose to remain sequestered.

  Nor did she care.

  As the Christmas season rapidly approached, Laurette put on a good front to the world. She bought little gifts for those closest to her and sat on the floor before the fire to wrap the treasures in tissue paper and tie them with red ribbons.

  She didn’t, however, get a tree for the house. It was, she realized with a twinge of sadness, the first year of her life that a tall, fragrant spruce hadn’t stood in the corner of the drawing room for the holidays. The Christmas ornaments would remain packed away in the upstairs linen closet. Decorating a tree when she was to spend Christmas alone hardly seemed worth the effort.

  Christmas itself hardly seemed worth the effort.

  “Why, Laurette,” exclaimed Johanna Parlange Ford. “You don’t have a Christmas tree!”

  “How quick you are,” was Laurette’s retort as the twins came in from the cold and into the warm drawing room as darkness fell over the city.

  “What are all those boxes stacked in the foyer that Johanna almost tripped over?” asked Juliette.

  “My things,” stated Laurette with no further explanation. The sisters exchanged looks.

  It was six days before Christmas, but the twins, as was their custom, were going to New Orleans to spend the holidays. Both had begged Laurette to come with them. They assured her that their cousins had a big roomy home in the Garden District and would be more than glad to have her. But she had declined, stating that she was scheduled to work at the hospital. They, and she, knew that if she’d really wanted to go to New Orleans, she could have gotten some time off.

  Since she refused to accompany them, they had come to spend this evening at her home, to celebrate an early Christmas with her. They went out of their way to be agreeable and cheerful.

  It was Juliette who reminded her sister, as they’d come up the front walk, “Now, remember, Johanna, you are not to mention Sutton Vane’s name!”

  “I know that,” said Johanna. “You think I want to spoil Christmas?”

  So they came to the Dauphin Street mansion to exchange gifts, drink hot cocoa by the fire and enjoy the evening together. The twins gave Laurette a warm wool shawl that they had knitted themselves. She oohed and aahed over it and immediately wrapped it around her shoulders. Laurette gave Johanna a box of perfumed soap knowing how Johanna loved to loll in the tub. She had chosen Henry James’s masterpiece, Portrait of a Lady for Juliette. The twins were delighted with their gifts.

  The three old friends talked and laughed and when Laurette brought down a bottle of cognac she had saved for the occasion, Johanna applauded and Juliette smiled and nodded her approval. They sipped freely and soon their conversation grew more animated, their laughter louder. They ended up lying on their stomachs before the blazing fire, singing and giggling like children.

  They had finished the bottle and were starting to yawn when the clock in the corridor struck the hour of midnight.

  “Good heavens,” said Juliette, rising to her knees and sitting back on her heels. “I had no idea it was getting so late.”

  “Nor me,” agreed Johanna. “We must go, the steamer leaves at dawn for New Orleans.”

  Minutes later, the twins had donned their wraps and, carrying their gifts, stepped out into the cold winter moonlight that spilled across the veranda.

  “We so enjoyed the evening,” said the gracious Juliette.

  “I did, too,” said Laurette. “Thanks so much for coming.”

  “We’ll see you in ten days,” said Johanna, slurring her words slightly, then laughing about it.

  Laurette laughed, too, as she stood shivering in the open doorway, seeing the twins off. On the steps, Johanna stopped, turned abruptly and said, “Oh, guess what, Laurette? He is leaving town.”

  Laurette’s heart kicked against her ribs. Forcing a laugh, she asked, “And who is he?”

  “Johanna Parlange Ford!” scolded her sist
er. “I told you not to—”

  “Sutton Vane,” said Johanna, ignoring Juliette’s frantic tugging on her arm. “He’s leaving Mobile for good. Moving. New York or Paris, I’ve forgotten which. We heard that this is his last night in Mobile.”

  “Will you come on, Johanna,” said Juliette, urging her sister down the steps. She turned, said over her shoulder, “Good night, Laurette.”

  “Good night. Have a wonderful time in New Orleans,” Laurette said calmly.

  She closed the door, locked it, turned and leaned back against it. So Ladd Dasheroon was leaving Mobile? Good! Great! Wonderful! She was glad he was leaving. With him gone for good, she could stop losing her breath every time she glimpsed a tall, raven-haired man that might be him. Her life could return to normal. Soon she would forget that he had ever come back.

  Yes, she was glad he was going away.

  Laurette went back into the drawing room, picked up the brandy snifters from the floor and carried them into the kitchen. She returned, lifted the empty bottle, turned it up to her lips and let the last few precious drops slide down her throat.

  She shrugged out of the shawl the twins had given her, sat down on the sofa and gazed into the low-burning fire. She sighed, stretched out on the sofa and stayed there until the fire had burned completely down and was no more than dying embers.

  She rose and told herself she was going to bed. But she didn’t climb the stairs. Instead, she nervously paced back and forth in her silent, lonely drawing room, thinking, remembering, regretting.

  All at once she abruptly stopped pacing and began to tremble. For an instant time turned back and she was sixteen again and it was the night before her seventeen-year-old sweetheart was to leave for West Point.

  Laurette moaned as she recalled the sweetness of their urgent lovemaking that night. And she remembered the nagging fear she’d had that once Ladd left her, she would never see him again.

  “Dear God, I can’t lose him again,” she said aloud. “Not again.”

  Laurette rushed out of the room and out of the house without bothering to grab a wrap. She ran through the freezing December night straight to the big white mansion on Government Street. Chilled to the bone, her teeth chattering, breath coming in labored gasps, she frantically banged on the heavy front door.