CHAPTER 28

RACHEL paused a moment, clearing her throat again. Even that brief delay was agonizing to Kenton.

“Please go on! What did she tell you?” Kenton urged.

“Mrs. David Kevington, she said, was not the first wife of Dr. Kevington. His original wife had died many years before, shortly before Dr. Kevington journeyed to the United States. The circumstances of her death, she told me, were mysterious. The marriage between the pair had been troubled, and some whispered that Dr. Kevington had poisoned his first wife.

“While Dr. Kevington was in the United States, she said, he became enamored of a beautiful, dark-haired woman who was the wife of a traveling American journalist. She told me the journalist’s name was Brady Kenton. Though she didn’t know all the details herself, she told me that Dr. Kevington had returned to England after the crash of a train in which both he and Mrs. Kenton had been passengers. She had been severely hurt, left senseless and unable to awaken, and he had brought her home with him to care for her to nurse her back to health.

“Dr. Kevington said they had been married in the United States, after she had divorced her journalist husband. The new Mrs. Kevington, as she was perceived, remained in her coma for month on month. Dr. Kevington tended her devotedly, but her prospects appeared uncertain at best.

“Complicating the matter was a fact that became evident only after time: the new Mrs. Kevington was with child. This fact created much consternation on Dr. Kevington’s part, my surrogate mother observed. The child was not his, but that of his wife’s first husband. This child, he said, would never be raised in his household.

“When her time came, Mrs. Kevington, still in a coma, gave birth to a daughter … to me. Immediately, I was taken from my natural mother and given to Jack and Molly Frye, who were told to raise me as their own, replacing the child stillborn to them shortly before. Thus I became Rachel Frye, the daughter of servants in the Kevington household, and my true mother, who gave birth to me with no knowledge of it, never even saw me in circumstances to let her know who I was.

“My surrogate parents, though they were paid by Dr. Kevington to take me as their own, were not mercenary in their motives. The loss of their blood child had left a great vacancy in their hearts, one that I filled. Jack Frye in particular seemed devoted to making my life better than the one he and his wife lived, and took pains to make sure I received as much education as possible. Though he himself was scarcely literate, he bought books for me, and had his wife teach me to read. Through the years he maintained a library for me, encouraging me to teach myself as much as I could, and to become well-spoken and articulate.

“I think he did this because he knew that my birthright and true station in life was being denied to me. I did what he asked, and as a result was able to provide myself with a formal education that I believe equaled or bettered the formal educations of many in better circumstances.”

“Your articulateness verifies that,” Kenton said. “You’re a very well spoken young lady.” As he spoke he was looking out across the rail yard, watching a train being pulled around into the rail yard, ready for departure.

“After my birth, Mrs. Kevington began to emerge from her coma. At times, I’m told, she would awaken, though never fully. She was initially unable to speak, though as time passed she began to be able to converse to a limited degree. The injuries she had suffered in the railroad accident had left her in a dire condition, though with Dr. Kevington’s care she was beginning to improve, and there was hope that someday she would be fully restored.

“But there was a dark side. Molly Frye told me that Dr. Kevington took advantage of the limited understanding of his wife to persuade her that he truly was her husband, and that you, Mr. Kenton, were dead. He wanted her fully for himself, with no devotion left in her for you or anyone else from her former life.

“In her weakened state, it’s likely that she accepted what he told her. My surrogate mother sometimes tended to her; she described her as a sad, quiet woman, a shadow of a person … but a shadow that was becoming fuller and richer with each passing month. But those months stretched into years, as you know, and at length the woman who had been Mrs. Brady Kenton became in her own mind wife of Dr. David Kevington.

“Shortly after my birth, Mrs. Kevington was again with child, this time fathered by Dr. Kevington. Just over a year after I was born, Paul Kevington came into the world. I have already told you some of his history and manner, and how I came to fall in love with him, not knowing we shared the same mother. My surrogate mother, who was quite perceptive where Paul Kevington was concerned, pointed out something to me that I had missed myself: Paul’s suddenly harsh manner toward me was surely an indication that his own father had told him the same story that my surrogate mother had told me. He had learned our true kinship, and that we never could have a relationship other than that of brother and sister.

“I later learned that he had indeed been told the truth, by his own father. The circumstances had been much like my own: Dr. Kevington had learned that Paul loved me, and was forced to tell him that I was in truth his half sister.

“Paul Kevington, oddly, seemed to hold the circumstances of our births against me, as if my parentage were my own fault. He seemed to resent me because of this twisted hand that fate had dealt us.

“Paul Kevington and I parted with me brokenhearted and him full of anger. At the time I thought our situation was the most ironic and sorrowful turn of events that could have come. Soon, though, I began to learn more of the true nature of Paul Kevington, and to realize that it was my good fortune that he and I could have no part of one another.

“Let me tell you about Paul. He is a most remarkable young man, very talented in many ways. He is a skilled actor, capable of taking over a stage and playing virtually any role to perfection. He is equally skilled as an artist and writer. All in all, the man should have been able to make a good showing for himself in almost any area he might choose. But one quality he lacks: he possesses no evident human sense of morality. Paul Kevington is a man completely without sense of right and wrong, devoted only to his own well-being and pleasure. I am ashamed, in fact, that I share a blood kinship with such a man.

“After our relationship was finished, Paul turned his attentions to another young woman who lived in poor quarters within a mile of the Kevington estate. Her name was Jenny; she was a common and uneducated girl, but one of extraordinary beauty. It was clear to me what Paul’s intentions toward her were. I was beginning to comprehend that he lacked the ability to truly love a woman. His interests were entirely for his own physical gratification.

“Jenny, though, was unable to see this, though I spoke to her more than once and warned her. She was flattered by the attention given her by a handsome and wealthy young man, who was known for his talents as well as his fine looks.

“I knew his intention was to take advantage of her, and I was correct. She came to me one evening, crying, telling me she was carrying Paul’s child, and that Paul refused even to speak to her about it. Her father was a hard man, stern in his morality, and she knew she faced the most severe consequences for what she had done. Feeling pity for her, I told her I would find a way to help her. I spoke to a priest I knew, a man of good heart and forgiving nature, and made arrangements to meet her at a hidden place to help her escape from both her father and from Paul. She was afraid of Paul; some of the things he had said had made her fear he might seek to hurt her or even kill her in order to keep the child from being born.

“Before I could go to her, though, my surrogate father became ill. His heart simply failed him. I went to his side, and stayed with him for nearly a day until, very quietly, he died. I held his hand and wept.

“Then I remembered the meeting I had missed. I left, and went to look for her in the place we had said we would meet.

“I found the priest’s corpse lying on a woodland trail before I got there. He had been stabbed. Terrified, I wanted to run away, but I worried about what had happened to Jenny. I moved ahead, and came upon her just in time to see her dying as Paul Kevington stabbed her again and again. I ran; he saw me, and chased me. I knew that he would kill me, no matter what.

“I hid for two days, afraid to reveal my presence to anyone. I stole food, lived in a barn loft, starting at every sound and shadow. Paul Kevington did not find me, but I soon realized that if he couldn’t find me, he could still find my family. I ran home, and found my mother stabbed to death in her own bed.

“She had already been found by a neighbor. Because I had been absent it was feared at first that I was dead, as well, or that I was guilty of the killing. I learned these things from a neighbor who knew me well, and discovered that my surrogate mother had told her enough of my situation that she understood what was happening. She told me that there was no hope for me; Paul Kevington and his father would be believed, no matter what they said, whereas I, as a common servant girl, would not be. Paul Kevington could not afford to leave me alive, not after I had witnessed him committing murder. I had to flee the country. Otherwise he would find me and kill me.

“I had done research and discovered that Brady Kenton was not dead. I determined to find you, because I wanted to know the man who truly was my father. I took money that my surrogate father had saved for many years, which he kept buried in a jar at the rear of our house beneath an oak tree. With that money and the help of friends, I was able to secretly obtain passage on a ship and come to the United States.

“Once here, I quickly found that Brady Kenton was a far more famous man in this country than I had realized. I studied the Illustrated American, reading every story of yours that I could find. I studied your pictures, and was shocked to find that in many of them I could detect a subtle image of the same face I had seen through the glass of that high window in the Kevington house.”

“Yes,” Kenton said. “It’s been my habit to include her image in my work as a tribute to her. Most people, though, are not perceptive enough to spot the images.”

She took this as a compliment and smiled at him; to Kenton it was again like seeing his long-lost wife, and melted something inside of him. He was finding all of this almost too much to take in. After years of not knowing the truth, it was almost impossible to believe he was finally learning it.

Rachel continued her story. “I began trying to track you down. I had thought I could go to the headquarters of the Illustrated American and simply find you there, but soon learned that you’re a man without a home, constantly traveling. To make matters more difficult, I discovered that you tended not to follow your schedules very closely. Not even the Illustrated American knew where you were … or if they did, they would not reveal it.

Kenton said, “If I had known you were trying to find me, I would have made it easier for you.”

She smiled at him again. “I finally was able to trace you to Texas, where you had gone to work on a story. When I got there, I had no more money, no food. Since coming to the United States I have worked when I could, and where I could, to keep myself alive. I thought sometimes about actually advertising to hear from you, but still feared Paul Kevington. He had the means to travel to this country very easily, and given that I knew him to be a murderer, he had the motive to do so, as well. So I kept myself hidden.

“In Texas I worked in the household of a wealthy rancher. It was good work, and I was tired of traveling and hiding, and stayed longer than I intended. Meanwhile I continued to read the Illustrated American, and to attempt to find a pattern in your movements. I had grown more confident that Paul Kevington had not followed me from England after all, and that I was safe from him.

“And then, one day, he was there. He was mounted on a horse, on a hillside, watching the ranch.

“I panicked. I realized how determined he was to find me, how great a threat I was to his very existence as long as I remained alive. At first I couldn’t guess how he had managed to track me to such an obscure place. Then I realized he had simply used the same logic I had. He knew that I would seek to find my real father, and so he tracked the famous Brady Kenton to Texas, knowing I would not be far behind.

“The very day after I saw Paul on that hillside, I heard that there had been trouble of some sort near the Mexican border. Some Texas Rangers had gotten involved in a fight with someone who was described as an Englishman. I knew it had to be Paul. A Ranger was killed in the fight, shot in the back. Another was wounded.

“My fear of Paul only increased. He was a madman! I had to leave right away. I took my little bit of money, my few possessions, and fled, not really sure where I was going. For quite some time, I remained on the move, taking jobs here and there to survive, sometimes, I admit, resorting to theft when I was hungry. I lost track of you, couldn’t follow you. This was probably good, because it made it virtually impossible for Paul to track me in turn. I began to hope again that I had escaped him.

“Then, I read in the Illustrated American about your great adventure in Montana involving the fireball that fell from the sky. Suddenly, everywhere I went, I heard people talking about that story, and about you. And I heard someone say that you were seeking a wife whom everyone said was dead, but who you believed was still alive.

“When I heard that, I had all the more reason to find you, knowing I could give you the answers you wanted. I began tracking you again, hoping that Paul had given up and gone back to England.”