BY THE TIME Addie returned to Eaton Manor, it was time for Edward’s evening meal, but he wasn’t in his room. Addie checked the playroom, then the bathroom. No small boy. After yesterday’s scare, he wouldn’t be outside. The servants now guarded the doors. Her fingers trailed along the smooth redwood of the banister on her way to the first floor. She stopped his nurse, who was carrying a basket of Edward’s laundry toward the back kitchen, and asked if she’d seen Edward. The nurse told her he was in his grandfather’s study.
Mr. Eaton was in the salon, having his evening claret. He would not take kindly to his grandson’s intrusion. Addie went past the drawing room to the third door on the left. Mr. Eaton’s study. Peeking past the open paneled door, she saw Edward seated behind the polished desk. “Edward, what are you doing in here?” she asked, approaching.
“Looking for Gideon,” the boy said. “I couldn’t find him anywhere.” He stood and clapped his hands, and Gideon padded to him.
She held out her hand. “Come, dear, before your granddad finds you in here. I suspect he wouldn’t be pleased.”
A picture on a shelf of the bookcase caught her eye, one she hadn’t seen last time she was in here. She picked it up. A young woman in a white dress sat on the porch steps with a small girl in her lap. Addie caught her breath and stared into the child’s face. The curly hair, the wide eyes, even the dimple in the right cheek told her she was looking at herself. She saw the same dimple on the woman’s face, but her hair appeared lighter and straighter, her face more rounded.
Her mother. The certainty grew along with the lump in her throat.
A locket around the woman’s neck caught her attention, and Addie’s fingers outlined the one nestled inside her dress. She tugged it out, and the heat of her skin warmed it in her hand. Every flourish, every detail, was as familiar to her as the lines in her palm.
Gideon whined, then began to bark. She turned from the desk in time to see the dog take hold of the waist of Edward’s pants and tug him to the ground. “Edward, are you all right?”
The dog licked Edward’s face, and the boy giggled. When he started to get up, Gideon nudged him, then put his paws on the lad’s chest. Edward lay down, and his smile faded.
“I don’t feel good,” he mumbled.
She dropped to her knees beside him. “Edward?” His hand grabbed at her as his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Help! Somebody help!” she shouted. With the boy cradled in her lap, she breathed a quick prayer. Was this another episode of epilepsy or something else?
Footsteps pounded in the hall. Mr. Eaton careened through the door with his hair tousled. “What is it?” His gaze went to his grandson. “He’s having a fit!” He fell to his knees and pulled the boy off her lap to lie flat on the floor.
As Mr. Eaton slid Edward away, Addie felt a pain in her neck and realized the child had her locket clutched in his hand. The chain gave way, and the pain subsided, but the necklace dangled from Edward’s clenched fingers.
“There, my boy,” Mr. Eaton said, smoothing the hair back from his grandson’s forehead. “Wake up, Edward.”
The child’s eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t awaken. His hand flailed, and the gold chain hit Mr. Eaton in the cheek. Addie gasped and tried to grab it, but the man’s fingers pried it from the lad’s fist first.
Mr. Eaton stilled as he examined the locket. “Where did he get this?” he demanded.
Addie put her hands to her throat, where the skin burned. She couldn’t force a word past her dry lips. Waves of heat rose in her chest.
“It’s yours?”
“It was my mother’s,” she said.
His fingers clenched around the locket. “Your mother’s,” he echoed. “Who are you?”
“Addie Sullivan.”
He pried open the locket to reveal the picture inside. “This is Vera’s picture in your locket.” His voice was hoarse.
His eyes widened, and his gaze went back to her face. “Where did you come from?”
Should she tell him everything she knew? She eyed his tight mouth. He might throw her out. “The man I know as my father was a lightkeeper. I grew up at Battery Point.” She caught herself before she revealed Mr. Driscoll’s involvement. “My mother recently revealed that my father found me after a shipwreck.”
Mr. Eaton gasped and reared back. “Laura,” he whispered. “My dear Laura.” Moisture filled his eyes.
His obvious emotion brought tears to her eyes. Everything she’d heard was true. He’d loved her mother very much, but what about her? “That necklace was around my neck.”
“So you’re . . . Julia?”
She swallowed past the tight muscles in her throat and searched his expression for a hint of joy. “I suspect that is so.”
Sternness replaced the longing in his eyes. “Is this a scheme to take my money?” he asked. “How did you get this locket? The truth, now!”
“I told you everything I know, sir,” she whispered. “My mother swears it is so. I myself have no memory of that night, though I have a dreadful fear of storms.”
“It might be true,” he said. He glanced at the still-sleeping Edward, then stumbled to his feet. “Your father. I must speak with him.”
“He died of consumption five years ago. My mother took over for him, but she transferred to Mercy Point Lighthouse this week. Her name is Josephine Sullivan.” She touched Edward’s warm cheek. “What of Edward?”
“He will awaken soon. I’ll send his grandmother to him. I want you to come with me.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Might I have my locket back?”
His features hardened, then he dropped the necklace into her outstretched palm.
Did his passion for her mother extend to her? She prayed it was so. Her pulse galloped at the thought that she might finally be welcomed into the bosom of the family she longed for.
The automobile rattled over the potholes in the dirt road that led to the lighthouse. Addie held on to her hat when the bottom of the machine dipped and swayed. Riding in this thing wasn’t as much fun as she’d expected. She felt bounced like a badminton birdie. The car tore along the street at such a fast clip that she’d been hard pressed to keep the wind from ripping her clothes. She suspected they were traveling more than twenty miles an hour.
She sneaked a peek at Mr. Eaton. His jaw was grim, and both hands gripped the steering wheel. She caught him stealing glimpses of her from the corner of his eye. Perhaps he suspected she was an imposter.
He cleared his throat. “You have th-the look of Laura,” he said.
“So Mr. Driscoll said.”
He lapsed into silence again. The automobile lurched around a corner, then down a hill before stopping at the footpath to the lighthouse. He clambered from the automobile and extended his hand to help her down. She prayed she wasn’t reading too much into the way he held on to her fingers a few moments longer than was necessary.
“This way,” she said. She led the way up the hill past purple wildflowers blooming on the slopes. The waves crashed against the shore, and she drew a deep breath of salty air. In an instant, the tension in her shoulders eased, and her erratic breathing evened out. The rocky path led to the house, and she opened the door.
“Josephine?” she called.
Mr. Eaton turned to stare at her, and she realized how odd this was. She’d just told him about her parents, yet she called her mother by her Christian name. Turning from his questioning eyes, she led him across the painted board floors to the parlor. “Josephine?” she called again.
The stillness confused her. After rising at three in the afternoon, her mother was usually bustling around, polishing the lenses and preparing for another long night of tending to the light. The parlor was empty. So was the kitchen. She hurried up the steps and checked the bedrooms. No sign of her mother.
After returning downstairs, she stepped through the kitchen to the back door. Mr. Eaton followed her onto the stoop. Sea spray misted her face. The tide was rolling in, leaving flotsam on the rocks as the waves ran back to the depths, gleaming in the moonlight. She cupped her lips and shouted for her mother. No voice replied except for the squawk of two seagulls soaring in the blue sky.
“Perhaps she went to town,” Mr. Eaton suggested.
She shook her head. “Not at this hour.”
“Could she be down at the water? Or in the tower checking something?”
She peered toward the light tower attached to the back of the home. “It would be unusual for her to be there now, but not impossible. I shall check. Would you like to come with me or stay here?”
“I’ll escort you.”
The tower would likely be accessed from upstairs. She climbed the stairs and found the access door at the end of the hall. “Josephine!” she called up the steps. Her words echoed against the round walls. “I don’t think she’s here.”
“Shall we ascend to make sure?”
“She would have heard me.” Addie studied the open network of the iron staircase but could see nothing. Mr. Eaton put his foot on the first step, then glanced at her, as if seeking permission. She nodded and followed him up the circular stairway. The metal clanged as their shoes struck the treads. The noise reminded her of a mourning bell.
The air was close and stale. As they neared the top, the scent of kerosene grew stronger, but it was carried on the wind of some fresh air. Her steps quickened, and she lifted her skirts to prevent tripping. She came up against Mr. Eaton’s broad back. His arm came out and prevented her from stepping onto the platform. “What is it?” she asked.
“You stay here a moment, Miss Sullivan.” He planted his other foot onto the metal floor, then disappeared from her sight.
In spite of his admonishment, she followed him. At first his bulk blocked the view of the floor where he knelt. Then he stood, and her gaze fell on the still figure there.
Josephine lay face forward. The back of her head didn’t look right. Addie put her hand to her mouth when she realized that blood matted Josephine’s hair. A scream tried to escape from her mouth but lodged somewhere below her Adam’s apple.
“Mama?” she finally managed to whisper. She moved closer.
Mr. Eaton blocked her from reaching her mother. “I’m most sorry, Miss Eaton, but I fear she’s dead.”
A wave of dizziness assaulted her. “Dead? You must be wrong. Let me tend to her. I can help her.”
She evaded Mr. Eaton’s hands and knelt beside Josephine. When Addie touched her, her skin was cold, so cold.
It was only then that the scream managed to rip free from her throat.