Wanted: Bounty Hunter (Silverpines Series Book 27) Page 2

  Penelope’s shoulders relaxed. “I’ve missed you, too. Welcome home, my dear.” She pressed their cheeks together then stepped back to flutter a hand in goodbye.

  Rachel watched until she made her way down the street and disappeared inside the bookstore. Sighing, she smoothed her gloved hands down her black silk mourning gown, straightened her saucy travel hat, and set her nose in the direction of Main. According to the telegram she’d received from Mrs. Ella Grace Karson, proprietress and co-owner of the Silverpines Inn, the room she’d reserved was just a hop, skip, and a jump down Main Street past the bank and law firm.

  Though it was a bit on the chilly side, the sun was out and it was a fine morning for a walk. She pulled the ends of her black travel cloak a little tighter against the breeze and moved down the platform stairs. A few pedestrians on Main Street eyed her curiously, and a dusty cowpoke on a horse tipped his hat to her as he clopped past.

  A gentleman in a dark leisure suit and walking cane stepped from the cafe to her left and paused at the sight of her. “Well, if it isn’t the belle of Boston herself.” He tucked his cane under his arm to give a muffled clap with his gloved hands. “Welcome home, darling.”

  Rachel frowned at the faintly familiar cocky arch of blonde brows and scrambled to place a name to the handsome face smiling at her. “Mr. Banfield?” Unbelievable! He was one of her former co-dance instructors and dance partners at the Boston Young Ladies Finishing School where she’d worked until she’d married a year ago. What was he doing in Silverpines?

  “Finneas to you, darling, or Finn, if you prefer.” He removed his hat and bowed low before her, making two young women who were standing outside the cafe titter behind their hands.

  Darling! Rachel drew back in surprise. She was nobody’s darling, at least not any longer. She was still officially in mourning for her late husband and hadn’t a single romantic prospect in sight.

  Without waiting for her to respond, Finneas Banfield returned his hat to his head, reached for her hand, and drew it through his arm. “Where to? I am most happy to escort you wherever you are going.” He tugged her gently on down the sidewalk.

  The first tendrils of alarm curled in her bosom as she was assailed by the heavy-handed scents of too much aftershave and cologne. Though it was nice to see another friendly face, his show of over-familiarity struck her as odd. They’d never been close friends and certainly never courted. Quite the contrary! He’d always struck her as snobbish and aloof, a cut or two or three above her humble background due to his distant connection to some duke back in London.

  Her feet ground to a halt, forcing them to pause their promenade. She removed her hand from his arm and pivoted to face him. “What a surprise to see you! If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you to Silverpines?”

  “You,” he replied simply.

  “Me!” She took a half-step back. “I don’t understand.” She peered anxiously into his aristocratic features, wondering if he’d become a tad “touched” in the head since their last encounter.

  But his piercing blue eyes stared back at her without the slightest tinge of madness in them as he slowly expelled his breath. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to approach you about this, but then you upped and left Boston before your mourning period was over.”

  Rachel’s sense of alarm grew to prickles that danced across the tops of her arms beneath the sleeves of her gown and cloak. “Approach me about what?”

  He returned his gaze to hers and spread his hands. “I made a deathbed promise to Matthew that I would look after you.”

  She folded her arms. “You knew my husband?” It was difficult to picture Professor Matthew West socializing with an independently wealthy gentleman of leisure like Finneas Banfield. They’d not moved in the same circles.

  He gave an offhand shrug. “We attended school together. Our families go way back.”

  It didn’t sound like a close friendship to her. “I wasn’t aware of your acquaintance with my late husband. And though I greatly appreciate whatever comfort you may have offered him in the hospital, I don’t need looking after.” She couldn’t recall him once visiting Matthew during his final days, and she should know. She’d hardly left her beloved’s side. She crossed her arms to mask a shiver.

  He bestowed a disparaging glance on their surroundings. “I’ll admit this isn’t the place where I pictured myself settling down, but a promise is a promise.”

  Now that sounded more like the snobbish man she remembered. “Settling down?” she inquired incredulously. “You plan to stay?”

  “I may not be perfect, Rachel, but one thing I am is a man of my word. I’ve secured a townhome over on 8th Avenue and Ash.”

  To look after me? Shaking her head at his casual use of her given name without her permission, she took yet another step back. “I hardly know what to say.” It was true. For once, all her training and decorum failed her. Her mind was utterly empty of casual niceties. Her encounter with Finneas Banfield was too sudden, too unexpected. She needed more time to process it.

  “Say you’ll have breakfast with me.” His cultured baritone with its faint British accent waxed a tad husky with pleading. “I hear the Silverpines Inn serves a hash brown casserole worth sampling.”

  “Thank you for asking, but I cannot spare the time. I have a prior engagement.” Thankfully! She wasn’t in the mood to break bread with a tiresome man from her past who had himself convinced she needed looking after.

  “Oh?” he inquired. His ocean blue eyes sharpened with interest.

  “Good day, Mr. Banfield,” she said firmly, strolling across the street to the entrance of the bank. She didn’t like it one bit that he would witness where she was heading next.

  “Finneas!” he called after her.

  Chapter 2: A Sizable Acquisition

  Rachel

  She closed the front door of the bank behind her and was relieved to be rid of her would-be escort. The bank floor was bustling with activity. A soft-spoken clerk waited on a line of patrons, writing out deposit and disbursement slips and efficiently counting out coins and bills.

  “May I help you?” A young woman paused her typing at a desk on the side of the room and smiled at her.

  “Yes, please. I have an appointment with Mr. Richards. If you’ll let him know I’ve arrived, that would be marvelous.”

  “I will, indeed. And your name, please?”

  “Rachel West.”

  “Please have a seat, ma’am. He’ll be with you shortly.” The young woman rose from her seat to tap lightly on an office door behind her desk. She ducked her head inside the door and had a brief conversation with whoever was on the other side. Turning around, she beckoned Rachel forward. “He is ready to see you, ma’am.”

  A man with spectacles perched on the edge of his nose stood and walked around his desk when she entered. “Mrs. West.” He bestowed a jovial smile on her and held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.” He wore a dark green suit that made her think of new, crisp dollar bills.

  “Likewise.” Rachel pressed his hand and took the seat he motioned her into. Up to this point, they’d only corresponded via letters and telegrams. “How soon may we go visit the mansion?”

  He grimaced and took his seat. “To be honest? I was hoping for a few more days to spruce up the place before you take your first tour.” He clasped his hands on his desk. “It’s been vacant a while, so it needed a good cleaning and a few updates.”

  Rachel didn’t care. She was too anxious to put her eyeballs on the place to worry about a few updates. “What sort of updates?” She leaned forward in excitement.

  “Indoor plumbing and electricity.”

  “Oh, my!” She slowly leaned back in her seat, trying to swallow her disappointment. Projects like that could take days, weeks even.

  “Pray don’t look so dejected, Mrs. West. I’ve had a contractor and crew out there all week. They’re nearly finished. It’s the trimming of the bushes outside that won’t get do
ne until later today and the cleaning inside that won’t get done until tomorrow.”

  She brightened. “I can see past a few vines and cobwebs. If you don’t mind too terribly much, I’d still like to tour the home today.” Right now, in fact.

  He cast a doubtful look over the expensive cut of her cloak and gown. “There will be hammers clanging and a bit of sawdust in the air.”

  “The cost of progress,” she assured lightly.

  To her surprise, he drove her there in a sleek, black automobile.

  “A horseless carriage,” she murmured in appreciation, brushing one gloved hand over the leather passenger seat. “I really must purchase one of these.” With her aunt’s fortune, she could well afford it.

  Mr. Richards spared her an indulgent grin. “You sound like my wife, Tilde. She’s friends with Eulalia Montgomery, the wife of our fire chief. He’s the man who brought the first Oldsmobile into town. One ride in it, and Tilde insisted we purchase one for ourselves.”

  “Where might I make such a purchase?” Rachel seriously doubted there were any automobile dealers in town

  “We had this one shipped in from Lansing, Michigan. We acquired it directly from Mr. Ransom Olds.”

  Straight from the inventor and manufacturer himself. She nodded. “Then I presume you can put me in contact with him?”

  His mouth curved in a winning, salesman smile. “I will indeed, Mrs. West. You could easily convert the carriage house to a garage at the estate you’re about to tour.”

  The estate. She liked the sound of that. He’d mentioned a few acres of property in one of his letters, but she couldn’t recall the exact size of the lot. She’d been far more interested in the dimensions of the house itself at the time.

  “Will you describe the grounds and outbuildings again?” She peered out the window as they drove past the Silverpines Inn and the school. It took only a few blocks of driving to leave behind the business district and head into the residential section of town.

  “Absolutely. It’s located at the end of Main, about a quarter mile past the Howard Home for Orphan Girls.” He nosed the vehicle onto a cobblestone driveway and drove slowly up a slight incline. Bare trees curled their naked branches over the road, forming a gnarled canopy.

  Orphan girls were potential students. Her interest piqued, but he didn’t elaborate on the school as she squinted up at the canopy of trees. There were maples, oaks, ash, and possibly a dogwood or two. They would be stunning in the springtime when they were in full bloom.

  The covered road suddenly opened up to a wide, circular drive with blue skies overhead. Mr. Richard parked his Oldsmobile in front of a towering fortress and turned off the engine. All Rachel could do was gape at the stunning red brick and white stone mansion against a backdrop of spruce, hemlock, and sugar pines. It was a marvelous feat of Victorian architecture with arched doorways and window features, massive pillars, all sorts of intricate balconies and outsets, a glorious pair of two-story turrets, and fanciful gargoyle-like creatures on the corners of the roof.

  “Here we are. Now I can talk about your gorgeous home and give you a tour at the same time.”

  She barely noted him when he walked around the front of the vehicle to open her door. As if in a trance, she stepped onto the driveway and continued to stare. “It’s perfect,” she breathed. It was more beautiful than he’d been able to describe in his letters, and the tiny charcoal sketch he’d sent hadn’t come close to doing the home justice.

  “It will be,” he assured breezily. “As soon as the grounds crew finishes trimming the shrubs and bushes out front and the rose vines in the rear courtyard.”

  The rear courtyard? It sounded like sheer magic! By now, Rachel was so enchanted she could have wept from happiness. Everywhere she gazed, she could imagine girls running and playing. They would have tea parties and dances and musicales here. There would be songs and laughter and happiness; and all of it would be woven into a loving home environment.

  She knew with a clear and sudden certainty that this town and this beautiful house were exactly where God wanted her to be.

  “I’m ready to sign the paperwork,” she blurted. No doubt Mr. Richards would think her hasty and foolish, but he could think what he wanted. “Naturally, I’d like to tour the inside first, but I won’t be changing my mind.”

  “I can see that.” He studied her with curious interest. “Follow me.” He led her inside to a vast entry foyer. Before them was an intricately carved pair of winding staircases leading to a squared-off balcony on the second floor. To her right was a parlor big enough to host a night of music or dance. To her left was a formal dining room. Though the home boasted a few cobwebs and a layer of dust, the wall paper was unsullied and perfectly sealed.

  There were no sun stains on the floor where rugs had once rested, no worn patterns on the walkways or staircases.

  Rachel tapped a gloved finger against her lips. “You mentioned that a shipping tycoon built this home for his wife, but it doesn’t look the least bit lived in.”

  “It wasn’t,” he confirmed with a slight grimace. “Sadly the man’s wife passed before they moved to Silverpines. Unable to bear living in the home he’d designed for her, he abandoned the project altogether and sold it to me for a song and a dance. That is the real reason I’m able to offer you such a bargain on the price.”

  How romantic, yet tragic! Rachel followed him in a dreamlike haze as he led her through a roomy kitchen beyond the dining room, a tiny powder room, and a wide sunroom with windows that spanned the entire back of the home. It overlooked the courtyard and a pair of small ponds with bridged walkways leading to the wooded area beyond.

  “You have a little more than five acres of land, a carriage house beyond the east wing with living quarters above it, and a one-room log cabin that serves as a garden shed and greenhouse of sorts to the west.”

  The east wing turned out to be a long gallery that Rachel instantly decided would become the new home for her great aunt’s collection of paintings and old family portraits. It would also house the many watercolors her future students would paint. The west wing mirrored the east wing with one exception; it possessed floor-to-ceiling shelves.

  “And with no further ado, I present to you our library,” she murmured. Unable to hold back her excitement, she did a pirouette in the center of the room. Every finishing school worth its snuff needed a library. She already owned hundreds of volumes to fill it — Browning and Keats, Plato and Aristotle, Homer and Sophocles.

  Mr. Richards spared her an indulgent smile. “Are you ready to view the bedrooms upstairs?”

  “Oh, yes!” That was where her out-of-town students requiring room and board would be staying — and herself, of course!

  They promenaded in fascinated silence up one of the curved staircases to a richly paneled second story. Beyond the squared-off balcony were two straight halls lined with doors. There were eleven bedrooms in all, including a sumptuous oversized suite with a sitting area and powder room that she decided on the spot would suit her own needs to perfection. There were two more powder rooms tucked back-to-back in the middle of the remaining ten bedrooms, complete with wash basins, claw-foot tubs, commodes, and — glory of glories — running water, thanks to the rugged crew of workmen who were hammering the final boards in place to cover the plumbing.

  It was plenty enough room for as many girls as she could realistically teach, as well as her household staff who would arrive by the week’s end.

  Rachel returned to the bank with Mr. Richards in a swirl of happy thoughts and plans to sign an impressive mound of paperwork. She left the bank an hour later with the keys to her new home in hand, contact information for Mr. Ransom Olds in Michigan, and every intention of moving her travel bags home at the end of the week when her furniture and staff arrived. It gave her exactly three days to secure the business permit the mayor had promised her via telegram and purchase some much needed supplies. Though the mansion was newly wired with incandescent chandeliers and ou
tlets to plug in lamps, she preferred to keep a supply of candles on hand for lantern-lit evenings and emergencies. Plus, she needed dry goods, fabric for curtains, soaps, lotions, and other necessities. Those were tasks she could easily handle before her staff arrived.

  Fortunately, most errands she needed to run were within walking distance. She checked into the Silverpines Inn first to ensure her travel bags had made it to her room. They had, in a manner of speaking. Apparently, they didn’t quite fit in a single room, so the owners had opened an adjoining room for her to use, as well.

  Ella Grace Karson, the proprietress, greeted her with the same curious smile everyone else in town seemed to be giving her, but it quickly transitioned to one of recognition and delight. “Oh, my goodness! Welcome home, my sweet friend.” Like Penelope, she was a childhood friend. They’d whispered and giggled their way through many happy lunch breaks together during grammar school. She swiftly skirted the counter to throw her arms around Rachel. “When you first contacted me about a reservation, I nearly fell over to realize who it was.”

  “It is so good to see you.” Rachel felt as giddy as Ella Grace sounded. She’d been a wee bit nervous about returning to the very streets her parents had walked on and the businesses they’d patronized. May you rest in peace, Mama and Daddy. Clyde and Emmaline Allen had been beloved members of the church and surrounding community. She had memories of them picnicking in the park, attending meetings and festivals in town square, and purchasing dry goods and fabric at the mercantile.

  Glory be!” Ella Grace’s brows rose and fell. “When Mrs. Worthington learns of your visit, she’ll be beating down the front door to get a look at you.” She moved back behind the counter, opened her reservation book, and picked up her pen. “I think I speak for the rest of the town when I say we were mighty glad you had family to lean on after the accident, but it nearly broke our hearts when your fancy aunt came and took you away from us.” She scratched out a few notes in her book. “Mrs. Worthington will be transported to the moon and back to see what a lovely creature you’ve grown into.” She paused her writing, and her gaze darkened as she noted Rachel’s black gown and cloak. “You’re in mourning,” she sighed. “Your aunt, I presume?”