The Wayward Heart Page 2

  Good, Bryony thought rebelliously. How dare this old sour-face treat me so! As if she thinks she’ll intimidate me into betraying Roger! Bryony was determined not to expose him. Her green eyes sparked with fury as she stared at the squat, gray-haired woman before her. She knew that Miss Grayson had never liked her, though she didn’t know why, and she was convinced that the horrid woman was delighting in her predicament. Well, she was sadly mistaken if she expected her victim to burst into tears and plead for leniency. Bryony drew herself up proudly.

  “I don’t wish to discuss this any further, Miss Grayson. At least, not out here in the open. But perhaps you’ll tell me why you were in my room looking for me? Was there something you wanted?”

  The woman reddened with wrath and shook a stubby finger in Bryony’s face. “Why, you impudent young hussy! How dare you speak to me in this manner! You shall be punished for your conduct this evening, indeed you shall! And as for why I came to your room—”

  She broke off, and a stricken look flashed across her homely features.

  “I... I’d forgotten,” she muttered. A strange expression came into her beady eyes as she gazed at Bryony standing defiantly before her. It was true, she’d never liked the girl. She’d never liked any of the girls in her charge, but particularly not this one.

  Bryony Hill’s striking beauty, and her love of laughter and life, made her an instant enemy of this bitter woman, who hated everything that was pure and unspoiled in the world. Miss Grayson had been born with a sour disposition, and it had not been improved upon when she had realized, as a young woman, that she possessed features that could only be described as plain. Though many such women were able to achieve a pleasing attractiveness despite their flaws, due to an inner beauty and spirit that reflected itself in their outer countenance, Miss Grayson was not one of their number. Her low-spirited, negative nature took even more secure hold of her personality, and she brooded many hours upon the ill turn served her by nature and by the world at large. Thus, she grew into a woman whose ugliness of appearance matched the ugliness of her soul, a woman whose only pleasure in life lay in spoiling the happiness of others.

  She’d been consumed with spiteful glee at discovering Bryony Hill’s wrongdoing, but now the girl’s enquiry as to why the assistant headmistress had been in her room recalled her to her duty.

  “You’re wanted immediately in Miss Marsh’s office, young woman. This other matter will have to wait. You must come with me at once.”

  Bryony stared in bewilderment as Miss Grayson promptly turned on her heel and marched back across the garden path toward the side doorway. She followed quickly, conscious of the many gaping stares boring into her retreating back. She was already regretting her burst of temper, knowing that she’d only created more trouble for herself. Miss Grayson would undoubtedly report her to Miss Marsh, the school’s headmistress, and she would certainly be punished, as much for her insolence as for her rendezvous with Roger. But as she followed Miss Grayson into the school building, her mind pondered something else. Why had Miss Marsh sent Miss Grayson to find her? Why would the headmistress possibly want to see her at this late hour?

  She still had no answer to this perplexing question when she reached the door to Miss Marsh’s private office. Knocking softly, she waited for an invitation to enter, casting a bewildered glance at Miss Grayson, who stood beside her, as silent and forbidding as a prison guard.

  Miss Marsh’s soft “Please come in” sounded almost immediately, and Bryony opened the paneled door. Letitia Grayson began to follow her in, but the elegant, small-boned woman behind the dainty marble desk quietly informed her that she need not stay.

  “But, ma’am, there are certain things you ought to know,” Miss Grayson began indignantly from the doorway, watching Bryony seat herself in a deep pink-and-white striped velvet chair opposite the marble desk. “Indeed, the reprehensible behavior of this young person tonight should be made known to you most plainly, and in no uncertain terms! Why, ma’am, I have never in my life—”

  “Surely, this report can wait for a later time?” Katharine Marsh suggested in her soft, pleasing voice. She glanced meaningfully at Miss Grayson, who scowled, muttered something, and banged the door shut behind her.

  Miss Marsh was a pretty, petite, middle-aged woman, with soft brown hair faintly streaked with gray, and calm, intelligent brown eyes. She had been born and bred in Boston, of excellent family, and this accounted for her impeccably prim, ladylike manner. She expected exemplary conduct from her pupils at all times, and contributed toward this goal by setting a perfect example of good breeding and gentility.

  She was loved and respected by all the students, unlike the malicious Miss Grayson, who was privately known among the girls as “Miss Sourface.” Miss Marsh was a romantic figure to them, subject to much rumor and speculation. It was known that she’d opened her school for young ladies in St. Louis after the tragic ending of a love affair. Her beloved fiancé, an aristocratic young Boston gentleman, had been killed in a stable fire while trying to rescue his prized horse only weeks before the marriage ceremony, and according to rumor, Miss Marsh had never recovered from his death.

  She’d refused to see any other suitors in the months and years that followed, and had retired almost completely from Boston social life. Finally, after deciding never to marry, she had left her home to start a new life in St. Louis, opening a boarding school for young ladies of good families, and running it with great, dedicated skill.

  Miss Marsh was much whispered about by her pupils, who thought of her as a heroine, and who rapturously regarded her life history as the saddest, most beautiful story they had ever heard. In turn, Katharine Marsh took equal interest in the lives and happiness of her students. In addition to personally instructing them in music appreciation (for she was a most accomplished pianist), she took pains to become acquainted with each girl in her care. Now, as she faced Bryony Hill in her tastefully feminine pink-and-white office—lightly scented, as always, with lavender—there was a curious sadness in her fine dark eyes. She liked the girl sitting before her, and deeply regretted the news it was her duty to convey.

  “Good evening, Bryony,” she said gently.

  “Good evening, Miss Marsh.” Bryony waited tensely, unable to imagine any reason for this evening summons. As Miss Marsh seemed to hesitate momentarily, that strange sadness shadowing her eyes, Bryony’s uneasiness increased.

  “Please, what is it, ma’am?” she inquired, leaning slightly forward in her chair. “Why do you wish to see me? Have I... have I done something awful?”

  “No, my dear, nothing of the sort. Although apparently Miss Grayson seems to think so. However, that can wait for another time. At the moment, I’m afraid I have some grievous news for you.”

  “Dear heavens...” Bryony felt panic tighten her chest. “What is it?”

  “I’ve just received a telegram from a Judge Hamilton of Winchester, in the Arizona Territory.” Miss Marsh met Bryony’s wide-eyed gaze sympathetically. “My dear,” she said gently, “I’m so sorry, but I must tell you that your father has been killed.”

  Bryony froze, numb with disbelief. Her throat felt as dry as if it were filled with sand. “No! It isn’t possible!” she cried, staring at Miss Marsh in blank confusion. “It can’t be true!”

  “I understand how you feel, my dear. I know it’s a terrible shock. But, unfortunately, it is all too true. You may read Judge Hamilton’s message, if you wish.”

  A cold, numb sensation crept over Bryony.

  Her father—dead?

  She felt ill, and leaned dazedly back in her chair, passing her hands shakily across her eyes. “I can’t believe it.” Slowly, she raised her gaze to Miss Marsh’s face. “You said he was... killed? What do you mean? How did he...” She swallowed. “How did he die?”

  “He was shot—by a gunfighter.”

  This statement added a new dimension of horror, and Bryony felt her skin grow clammy. She gripped the arms of her chair.

&
nbsp; “He was murdered?” she whispered.

  “No, not quite.” Miss Marsh couldn’t bear to look upon that pale, agonized face, from which all sign of animation had vanished. Averting her gaze, she shook her head slightly, her thin, delicately veined hands twisting nervously atop the desk. “He was killed during a fair gunfight—as Judge Hamilton calls it in his telegram—with several witnesses present. I’m afraid that this terrible man who shot him—this gunfighter Jim Logan—can’t be held accountable for murder. Apparently gunfights of this sort are a way of life in the west.” She shuddered. “That Arizona Territory must be a dreadful, wild place. This entire episode sounds quite barbaric!”

  “But I don’t understand. Why would a gunfighter kill my father? There must have been a quarrel, but I can’t see why my father would have had any reason to quarrel with this... this... man... this....” Her voice trailed off.

  “Jim Logan,” Miss Marsh supplied. She shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry, Bryony, but Judge Hamilton didn’t give any explanation for what happened. I don’t understand any more than you do.”

  Bryony listened in numb silence as Miss Marsh again offered her sincere sympathies, and told her not to worry about any arrangements. She promised to send for Wesley Hill’s lawyer in the morning, and was certain he would come to see Bryony within a few days to settle things. Handing Bryony the Judge’s telegram, Miss Marsh offered to accompany her back to her room, but Bryony shook her head and declined.

  In a daze, she returned to her own quarters and closed the door against the outside world. Hot silent tears slid down her cheeks as she rested her head against the door.

  Her father was dead. It didn’t seem possible. But it was true.

  And now she was alone.

  It’s strange, she thought dully. I feel so bereft.

  The fact was, she hadn’t known her father very well; they’d been almost strangers for the past ten years. But he was her father, and she loved him, and now he was gone. She felt stunned, and more alone than ever before in her life.

  Her sense of loss weighed heavily upon her, and when she finally sank into her bed, her burden pressed her into a turbulent sleep, fraught with jumbled, horrible, nightmarish fragments. When she awoke in the morning, she felt drained and dreary, and wondered how she would ever manage to face the day. In addition to everything else, it was gray and raining. The rain drummed against her windowpane, whipped by a screeching wind, and the drooping trees in the courtyard looked every bit as miserable as Bryony felt.

  Gloom had descended upon her world, wiping away all the happiness she’d known only a day ago.

  Bryony didn’t attend classes that day, but many of her friends and teachers came by to express their sympathies, and in the afternoon she met with her father’s lawyer, Mr. Parker. On her way to this meeting, which took place in Miss Marsh’s office, she encountered Miss Grayson in the corridor. The grim-faced woman gave her a disdainful nod in greeting, and then strode away with an unmistakable air of contempt. Bryony didn’t care, however; her conflict with Miss Grayson didn’t seem to matter anymore. Even her rendezvous with Roger seemed distant and unreal.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Hill.” Mr. Parker came forward solicitously as she entered the headmistress’s office. “Please accept my sincere condolences. I’m aware that this has been a terrible shock for you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Parker.” Bryony smiled wanly at this short, kindly, fair-haired man. She’d known him since she was a child, and he’d always treated her pleasantly. She trusted him completely, and knew that he would settle her father’s affairs properly. At least that was one matter she need not be concerned about.

  Miss Marsh excused herself to allow them privacy during their discussion. Bryony and Mr. Parker seated themselves in the delicate pink-and-white chairs, separated by a small, marble-edged table. A small, cheerful fire burned in the fireplace, and over the marble mantelpiece, a handsome, lacquered clock ticked soothingly. The pink silk draperies were drawn against the dreariness of the day, making the room seem a haven of beauty and grace. Under normal circumstances Bryony would have delighted in glancing around at the attractive china figurines and crystal vases; today she derived no comfort from the attractiveness of her surroundings. Her heart was heavy with a sorrow she tried not to show.

  “It seems my dear, Miss Hill, that at least you shall not be burdened by many details. I, too, received a telegram from Judge Hamilton of Winchester yesterday. As you know, I am responsible for all of your father’s business and legal affairs in the east. Judge Hamilton has been assisting your father with his legal affairs in the Arizona Territory. He informed me in his telegram that your father is being buried in a small, respectable cemetery outside of the town. So there are no arrangements for you or me to make in that respect.”

  For the first time, Bryony realized that it would not even be possible for her to attend her father’s funeral.

  Mr. Parker went on briskly, producing some papers from his leather case and spreading them on the table. “As far as financial matters are concerned, you may rest easy. Your tuition and board here at the school are paid in full until the end of the term. Not that you couldn’t afford it otherwise, however, for you are now a very wealthy young woman, Miss Hill.”

  “Am I?” Bryony asked distractedly, feeling a slight lurch of surprise.

  “Yes, indeed. Your father had set up a trust for you of twenty-five thousand dollars, which became available to you upon your eighteenth birthday, some few months ago, I believe. And he died with the sum of thirty thousand dollars deposited in his permanent bank account here in St. Louis, in addition to whatever cash he may have kept in Arizona, be it in a bank or personal safe or whatever. Naturally, the entire sum now belongs to you. His shares in those Colorado gold mines, which are not inconsiderable, will also be transferred to your name.”

  Bryony stared at him in astonishment. “I hadn’t realized that my father had accumulated such vast amounts.”

  “That is not all. According to his will, which I have right here, you are the sole inheritor of his entire estate, which includes the Circle H ranch itself, and all of the property and cattle. There are more than ten thousand acres of fine grazing land, which, I assure you, will fetch a considerable price.”

  “Price? What do you mean?” At mention of the ranch, Bryony leaned forward, regarding Mr. Parker with thoughtful green eyes.

  “Why, when you sell it, of course. As a matter of fact, Miss Hill, in addition to Judge Hamilton’s telegram, I received a most interesting one this morning from a Mr. Matthew Richards. Apparently Mr. Richards and your father were excellent friends. He very kindly expressed his sympathy for you, and informed me that he would be willing to take the ranch off your hands for a handsome price. It seems that he and your father had the two largest spreads in the region, and now that your father is gone, Mr. Richards wants to buy you out and consolidate his ranch with the Circle H. He’s made a most generous offer.”

  “Are you saying that I should sell the ranch? Why, I’ve never even seen it!”

  Mr. Parker smiled. “That’s hardly necessary. I can assure you that the price Mr. Richards has offered is most fair.” As he quoted the figure, Bryony’s eyes widened. She stood up abruptly and began to pace about the room.

  “It sounds like a fortune. But...” She found herself hesitating, searching for words. “I’ve always had rather a fancy to visit the ranch myself. I’m not sure that I wish to sell it.”

  Mr. Parker laughed, his mild blue eyes disappearing into a sea of creases. “You can’t be serious, Miss Hill. Of course you must sell the ranch. Whatever would you do with it otherwise?”

  “I could live on it,” she said slowly, turning to face him. “I could run it myself, just as my father did.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Mr. Parker still seemed inclined to laugh, but something in Bryony’s expression caused him to hastily choke back his amusement, and instead, he studied her with faint concern. “Miss Hill, perhaps we should talk about
this ‘fancy’ of yours. You can’t be thinking clearly if you’re really considering a life in the west. Why, it’s a wild, dangerous place—not at all the environment for a delicately bred young woman like yourself. Believe me, I’m sure you have some silly romantic notion of it, but you’d not find it at all pleasant in reality. The west, and in particular the Arizona Territory, is no place for you.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Bryony said. But to herself she thought, “Or perhaps not.”

  There was a dreamy expression in her eyes as she gazed into space, and Parker, who’d known her for years, couldn’t help marveling at what a lovely creature she’d become. True, she had always been a charming little girl, but now—well, now she was a woman. Slender and exquisite, with that beautiful mass of long, coal-black hair, snow-white skin, and those glimmering emerald green eyes. Her features were delicate and lovely, with high, sculptured cheekbones, and, a small, straight, patrician nose.

  Even attired as she was in a sober mourning-gown of black taffeta, with ruffles up to her throat, it was obvious that her curvaceous figure had fully blossomed into womanhood, and would surely distract a saint from his prayers. She was enchanting, he concluded admiringly—and in addition to her other charms, she possessed an engaging air of innocence that made her seem terribly vulnerable and appealing.

  Mr. Parker sighed.

  This dainty, captivating creature alone in the uncivilized west? It would never, ever do.

  “Please, Miss Hill, this might not be the best time to make decisions of such importance.” He rose and approached her, taking her slender hands in his. “I’m certain that after you’ve given the matter some consideration, you’ll agree that selling the property is your wisest course.”

  Touched by the genuine concern she read in his eyes, Bryony smiled at him with real warmth. “You needn’t worry about me, Mr. Parker. I promise to think about it most carefully. I realize it’s a very important decision.”