18. Chapter 18
Muriel slipped the journal back into her handbag, hoping she'd feel less vulnerable when the proof of her guilt no longer stared her in the face.
A sigh slid from her lips. Zane didn't deserve to be stuck in this impossible position.
'Twas unfair to ask him to go against his da.
Mr. Erickson might be an ill-tempered crab with overactive pinchers, but he was still Zane's family.
"I'm so sorry, Zane. About all of this." She hung her head and picked at the fabric of her borrowed dress.
"I'm not sorry," he said as he reached for her hand.
"Not about all of it, at least." He sought out her gaze.
"I'm not sorry I have the chance to court you.
" The roguish wiggle of his eyebrows lightened her heart and caused her belly to flip.
"I'm not sorry that you speak with an utterly charming accent.
I could listen to you read a grocery list and be enamored. "
A small chuckle escaped. "Now ye're spoutin' blarney, ye are."
Zane held up his hand as if making a pledge. "I swear that every word I said is true."
Had the Lord e'er made a man so fine as Zane Erickson? Kind and generous to a fault. Gentle. Compassionate. Understanding. No gentleman could compare. She might have been halfway in love with him before, but she was well on her way to bein' a complete goner now.
A knock on the sitting room door drew Muriel's gaze. Mrs. Erickson stood in the opening, her expression contrite. "May I . . . May I come in?"
Muriel stiffened and tugged her hand free of Zane's gentle hold.
Gracious. As if she hadn't besmirched herself enough in his mother's eyes, now here she was practically canoodling with the woman's son in her personal sitting room.
All right, no actual canoodling had occurred beyond mere hand holding, but appearances often counted more than truth in these scenarios.
Zane made no move to expand the distance between himself and Muriel, however. He simply gestured for his mother to enter. "Of course."
With every step that brought Mrs. Erickson closer, the false journal in Muriel's reticule grew heavier upon her lap. Glancing down, she half expected it to have burst the seams of the bag to expose her guilt.
When his mother reached them, Zane stood from his seat and offered it to her then fetched a different chair from across the room and situated it on Muriel's other side.
"Thank you, son." Mrs. Erickson settled in the chair like a swan settling upon a lake. So graceful and elegant.
Even with years of practice, Muriel doubted she'd ever possess such poise.
Living up to this woman's expectations of ladyhood would be nigh impossible.
All of Mrs. Underhill's criticisms about Muriel's lack of social polish, lack of education, and lack of refinement lifted their ugly heads to chatter their accusations in her ear.
She shrank in her seat, her chin dipping to her chest and her shoulders rolling forward as if she could curl into a ball and roll away. How she wished she could!
"I owe you an apology, Miss Quinn."
Shock brought Muriel's chin up and immediately set it to wagging from side to side. "Oh, nay, ma'am. 'Tis me that should be apologizin'. I'm the one who lied."
A small smile touched the woman's lips. "That's true, but I'm the one who made the deal with Mrs. Underhill that set this entire series of events in motion.
My husband acted poorly this evening, and I'll make no excuses for his terrible treatment of you, but he was right about one thing.
I never should have made a deal with the matchmaker, not once I learned the currency she expected for our transaction. "
Zane leaned forward, a frown marring his face. "What currency? I thought you said you made payments to her each week."
She turned toward her son, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. "I do. But she insisted upon . . . insurance. To guarantee the payments won't stop if she produces a quality match before the total sum is collected."
"What kind of insurance?" Tension radiated in Zane's voice.
His mother dipped her head. "A secret. One that could ruin your father."
Muriel blinked. Secrets? Was that what the book held? People's secrets?
"She has a system, you see," Zane's mother explained.
"The secrets remain confidential as long as the payments are made.
And everyone I talked to who has used her services assured me that Mrs. Underhill never extorts more than the agreed-upon sum.
Once the final payment is made, the page is removed from the book and burned.
But now that I've learned that your father has interfered, I fear what might come.
Mrs. Underhill is not a woman to cross. She's powerful and ruthless.
Those who fail to live up to their end of the contract pay a price.
A steep one. Maybe she'll be appeased if I continue making my payments. But if not . . ."
Muriel's heart throbbed in her chest as she thought of her da and her sister. Yet now it seemed the risk they faced extended to Zane's family as well. They needed to find a way out.
Empathy throbbed in Muriel's heart. Tentatively, she reached out and touched the older woman's shoulder. "I know ye have no reason to trust me, Mrs. Erickson, and I've little power in this tangled situation, but I promise I'll do all I can to protect yer family as I strive to protect me own."
Perhaps she could remove the page with Mrs. Erickson's secret before she returned the journal to Mrs. Underhill. But what about all the other people with secrets written in that unholy book? What would become of them?
"That's kind of you, Miss Quinn, but I've learned that the best way to fight deception is with truth.
And while I can't reveal the truth of my husband's secret, I can certainly reveal the delightful truth of my son's courtship.
" Mrs. Erickson found a smile and aimed it at Muriel.
"I'd like to officially launch you into Galveston society, my dear.
We'll start small, of course, only inviting close friends who can be counted on to lend their support.
I thought I might host a musicale here at the house.
My son has told me about your beautiful singing voice.
" She tossed Zane a fond and rather teasing glance.
"Went on and on about it those first few days after his rescue, as a matter of fact.
" Zane's cheeks reddened, and Muriel couldn't stop a grin from blooming in response.
"How better to win over society than to charm them with your beauty and talent? "
"What about Father?" Zane's question stole the smile from his mother's face. "You can't think he'd approve of such a thing."
"Leave your father to me. I'm sure we can arrange for him to be called away on business that night." The sourness in her voice made Muriel's heart ache.
What had happened to corrupt Mr. and Mrs. Erickson's happily ever after? Marriage was designed to bring people closer, to be true partners in life, one flesh that could not be torn asunder. Yet some force had been tearing these two asunder for quite some time, and the result was heartbreaking.
Mrs. Erickson addressed her son. "Zane, I've only ever wanted your happiness, and it's becoming clear to me that Miss Quinn is the young woman most likely to make you happy.
Your grandfather and I stand ready to lend you our support regardless of your father's disapproval.
He'll come around eventually." She sounded more hopeful than confident in that last statement, but no one could doubt her love and commitment to her son. "Let me do this, Zane. Please."
Zane clasped his mother's hand, and his voice rasped a bit as he agreed. "Thank you, Mother."
Mrs. Erickson blinked rapidly in an effort to keep the moisture in her eyes from leaking.
"Excellent. The sooner the better, to my way of thinking.
We'll plan for next Tuesday evening. We'll even ask Mrs. Underhill to serve as accompanist. I happen to know she delights in showing off her musical skills to society, so perhaps we can soothe her temper even as we demonstrate her matchmaking proficiency.
She'll believe her plan is working, and hopefully, we will buy ourselves some time to find a way to escape her wrath. "
Muriel only knew of one way to escape Mrs. Underhill's wrath, and Zane's mother had unwittingly provided the perfect cover. Access to the Erickson home while Mr. Erickson was away. A distracted audience. Perhaps even a little help from someone with experience picking locks.
But would Zane approve? Or would it be safer to keep him in the dark until the deed be done?
Octavia paced the academy's music room, her mind traveling down one thought branch after another, searching for flaws, for inconsistencies, for traps.
When Vanessa had reported in last night after a clandestine meeting with the Ericksons' footman and informed Octavia that dinner had been a disaster, Octavia had immediately started plotting the demise of her young Irish protégé.
The little fool had actually admitted to being part of a ruse and, worse, had implicated Octavia in the deception.
What did it matter that the Erickson patriarchs had dug around enough to unearth the truth of her parentage?
She should have kept her mouth shut and used her supposed injury to her advantage.
A damsel in distress was a classic ploy for a reason.
But no, she'd spoken—in that atrocious accent, no less—and brought the entire house of cards down in one fell swoop.
Thankfully, she'd been smart enough not to mention the journal.
The footman had not seen a book of any kind at dinner nor had he overheard any mention of one, despite the fact that Muriel had had it with her.
Vanessa had seen her place it in her bag along with a couple spare hairpins.
Yet now, Miss Quinn arrived for their morning meeting and announced that she had concocted a plan to retrieve the journal. Her. A na?ve, untried girl of nineteen with an overactive conscience who couldn't even manage to keep her mouth shut for more than a few days.
Octavia swirled around to face the infernal creature standing near the end of the piano. "Do you expect me to believe that after Sophie Erickson learned of your deception, she offered to sponsor you in society? What rot!"
Though it would be awfully convenient if it was true. But how could it be? People, especially those in lofty positions, rarely offered forgiveness so magnanimously. Especially not to outsiders who could offer them nothing substantial in return.
"Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, but I be tellin' the truth.
" Muriel lifted her chin. The appendage wobbled worse than an aging soprano's vibrato, but the chit held her ground.
Something few people managed to do when facing Octavia's fury.
"Zane's ma loves him somethin' fierce, and she felt horrible 'bout the things her husband said at dinner.
I'm thinkin' she's afeared Zane will move out and sever ties with them if she doesn't support his choice.
When Zane stayed by me side after dinner, he made it clear he wasn't ready to let me go.
" She pushed back her shoulders and looked Octavia in the eye.
"And I won't be lettin' him go, either."
Ugh. Such syrupy sweetness was nauseating. Though, it might prove useful. Love made people stupid. And easy to manipulate.
"Ye'll see it's true when ye receive an invitation."
Octavia arched a brow, immediately suspicious.
Surely Sophie had pieced together Octavia's role in planting Miss Quinn in her midst. She might not know of her plan to retrieve the journal, but Octavia was not so foolish as to believe the woman's forgiveness extended to her.
Desperation, on the other hand, could make a woman do all sorts of unpredictable things.
Like invite an enemy into her home. Especially if the enemy in question had a reputation for ruining those who crossed her.
Yes. Sophie thought to placate her. Foolish woman. Octavia Underhill could not be placated. Diverted, perhaps. For a time, and to pursue her own agenda. But the moment she had that journal back in her possession, she'd destroy Horace Erickson, no matter how many olive branches his wife offered.
"She wishes ye to play fer me." Muriel rested her hand on the ebony piano lid, her fingertips lightly tapping the surface. "She knows no one can match yer skill, and she wishes me shown to best advantage. To impress her friends."
Octavia smoothed a hand over her indigo bodice. "I can't argue with that logic. I am the best pianist on the island." And it had been a dreadfully long time since she'd played for an audience outside of the academy. An audience capable of appreciating her gift.
"I thought ye might even want to play a piece or two by yerself, giving me a chance to investigate Mr. Erickson's study." Muriel nibbled on her bottom lip after making that telling statement.
Perhaps the girl wasn't a complete dolt after all. Octavia doubted her playing would be enough to keep people from noticing the guest of honor slipping out of the party, but adding an extra level of distraction could work quite nicely. And she knew just who to employ.
"Well, I suppose I'll know the truth when that invitation arrives, won't I?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Octavia swept past the girl, rounded the piano, and headed to the back of the room where a cabinet filled with vertical shelves stood. She opened the glass door and started riffling through the academy's sheet music collection.
"Well? Don't just stand there. If we are to show you off to best advantage, we'll need more than sappy Irish ballads. We have less than a week to turn you into a cultured chanteuse. Let's get to work."