Page 79 of Cloaked in Beauty

Letty raised her chin, calling to mind the words from Psalm 56 that Grandmother had trained her to memorize in her youth—for such a time as this. “In God I have put my trust; I will not fear what flesh can do unto me.”

She eyed her uncle with disdain. “I’m here for one reason only—to fetch my grandmother. Where is she?”

“I’m here, Letty.” The wobbly voice echoed from behind a large curtain.

Uncle Drake cursed under his breath, stomped to the far side of the room like a petulant child, and dragged the curtain back with a flourish. Behind it stood a raised bedstead so large that it nearly swallowed its pale occupant.

“What did I tell you about ruining my surprise, Flora?” He drew back his palm and slapped Grandmother across the face. She tumbled backward onto the pillows, a chain jangling at her movement. He had her in manacles? The man was barbaric!

“Stop!” Letty launched herself toward the bed, but a pair of strong arms grabbed her from behind.

“Not so fast, girlie.” Davis’s smug tone lit a fire in her belly, but his grip proved effective and bruisingly painful.

He dragged her over to a roughhewn table and forced her into a hard wooden chair. This section of the room had been set up to resemble a more domestic medieval setting. A side table stood against the back wall bedecked with crockery and candlesticks. A washstand was positioned next to the bed, and a spinning wheel sat near the only window in the entire chamber.

The moment Davis released his hold on her, Letty leaned forward, desperate to get a better view of the bed. “Grandmother? Are you all right?”

“‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.’”

“Shut up, woman.” Uncle Drake drew his hand back again, but Mama had anticipated his bullying and had already rushed forward to plant herself between him and her mother.

“Does it make you feel strong to beat defenseless women, Drake? Was it not enough to chain her like an animal?” Her eyes ran over him, disgust twisting her features. “You shame the Radcliffe name.”

His face turned a mottled red. “My brother shamed the Radcliffe name the moment he shared it with you!” He raised his hand as if to strike her, but a wolf howled somewhere outside, halting his arm midswing.

Drake jerked his gaze toward the window, his eyes wide as his arm fell to his side. His startlement proved fleeting, however, for in the next breath, he grunted and regained his scowl.

He marched toward the table, picked up a leather portfolio at the far edge, then slammed it down in front of her. “It’s time to right the wrong your father did to me. Radcliffe Shipping belongs to me, as do all the proceeds from its subsidiaries and investments. Now that you are fully in control of Lowell’s fortune, it is up to you to restore what is rightfully mine.” He opened the portfolio and took out a thin stack of papers. “These documents designate me as the sole custodian of the company shares and financial trust left to you by your father. If you sign them, you, your mother, and your grandmother will be free to go and will never be bothered by me again. Refuse, and Davis will dose your granny with enough ether to ensure she never wakes.”

He fetched a pen-and-ink stand from the back table and thumped them down by her right hand.

Letty looked to the bed, to the woman who had raised her. The woman who was more mother than grandmother to her. Tears misted her eyes. She couldn’t just watch her grandmother die. The money meant nothing to her. Grandmother meant everything.

Grandmother struggled to lift herself up on one elbow. Mama leaned in to prop her up.

“Don’t you sign that paper, Letty girl.” Grandmother’s body might be frail, but her voice carried the strength of iron. “I’m ready to meet my Maker.”

Drake forced the pen into Letty’s hand and pinched her fingers around the casing.

Tears fell from her eyes as she shook her head. “I can’t let you go.”

“Yes, you can. You must. The minute you sign that paper, you sign the death warrant for both you and your mama. His promise is nothing but sand in the wind.”

“Davis!” Uncle Drake yelled. “Get the ether.”

The man in black scurried over to the washstand, took up a glass bottle, and unstoppered it. He poured a liberal amount into a folded rag, filling the room with a sickly sweet smell. He crept toward Grandmother, rag in hand.

Uncle Drake pounded the table next to Letty, making her jump. “Sign!”

A wolf bayed again, but this time the sound had no effect on her uncle. It did, however, have an effect on Letty. For she recognized the timbre of that call.

“All right! I’ll do it.” She dipped the nib in the ink, moving as slowly as she possibly could.

Please, Lord, let that be a sign from you.

Closing her ears to her mother’s urging that she put the pen down, and turning her face so she could no longer see the carrion bird swooping down on Grandmother with his deadly elixir, Letty set pen to paper, praying the dragon in his greed would be too consumed with her to notice the small scratching noises coming from the other side of the stone wall.

As her pen began shaping the curve of the S, her left hand clasped the hilt of the knife in her skirt pocket. As she worked the leather sheath away from the blade, the window crashed inward, followed by the boots and body of her favorite Pinkerton.