Books By Deborah Camp:
The Dangerous Hearts Series
Fallen Angel
Fire Lily
Master of Moonspell
Right Behind the Rain
Riptide
The Daring Hearts Series
Black-eyed Susan
Blazing Embers
Cheyenne’s Shadow
My Wild Rose
Primrose
The Love and Adventure Series
After Dark
For Love or Money
In a Pirate’s Arms
Just Another Pretty Face
Vein of Gold
The Love and Laughter Series
A Newsworthy Affair
Hook, Line, and Sinker
Love Letters
The Butler Did It
Wrangler’s Lady
The Love Everlasting Series
A Dream to Share
Midnight Eyes
Strange Bedfellows
They Said it Wouldn’t Last
Winter Flame
The Passionate Hearts Series
Destiny’s Daughter
Oklahoma Man
Taming the Wild Man
The Second Mr. Sullivan
Weathering the Storm
The Tender Hearts Series
Devil’s Bargain
Sweet Passion’s Song
This Tender Truce
To Have, To Hold
Tomorrow’s Bride
The Wild Hearts Series
A Tough Man’s Woman
Lady Legend
Lonewolf’s Woman
Too Tough ToTame
Tough Talk, Tender Kisses
FIRE LILY
DEBORAH CAMP
Copyright © Deborah Camp, 1991
All Rights Reserved
First published by Avon Books.
Cover photo by BCow
For Bonnie Jeanne Perry.
More than a good friend. More than a good writer. She’s the best of both. A friend who writes. Who could ask for anything more? Thanks, dearest B.J.
Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.
—Alfred Lord Tennyson
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 1
The storm descended on Fort Smith, Arkansas, with all the fury of Armageddon. Hours earlier it had been distant rumblings, but now the thunderheads hovered over the house to rattle windowpanes, blow damp breath down the chimneys, and fling bright lightning bolts.
Another booming fist slammed overhead, and Lily Meeker glanced apprehensively at the beamed ceiling of her aunt and uncle’s front parlor. She halfway expected to see telltale cracks. The fire in the hearth hissed and sputtered, scattering ashes and embers. Lily swept back her long skirt, afraid the hem might tempt the flames. She gathered her wool shawl closer around her shoulders and retreated from the small inferno. Her gaze moved haltingly from her Uncle Howard to her Aunt Nan. Both wore tired expressions, placed there by unrelenting worry. The skin on their faces was no longer taut and rosy. Time and circumstance had created lines, loose folds, and paleness.
The past two months had been nightmarish for the entire Meeker clan. So much for a happy, prosperous 1889, Lily thought, recalling how she’d received the news of her cousin Cecille’s disappearance on New Year’s Day. Never had a year dawned so dismally. Next month spring would arrive and still no word of Cecille. The growing fear that Cecille might never be found had driven them to grab at straws and believe in things they would have scoffed at before. Desperation had led them to this tense vigil.
“Thought we could all do with some hot tea,” Orrie Dickens announced, entering the parlor with tray in hand. Black and gray corkscrew curls bounced on her head. Her white apron seemed blinding in the dimly lit room. She set the tray on the low table near Nan and poured the steaming tea into the cups. “He probably won’t come. The storm’ll waylay him.”
“Perhaps,” Howard said, stroking his curly brown beard. Pellets clattered against the house. “Is that hail? If I were on the road tonight, I’d be finding shelter.”
“He’ll be here,” Lily said with characteristic certainty. She’d never been one with a mouthful of maybes. “Neither rain nor hail nor the hounds of hell could keep him away tonight.” She realized her melodramatic flair had done nothing to reassure the others and she laughed lightly to dispel the tingling apprehension. “Good heavens! You should see yourselves,” she chided. “All round eyes and slack jaws. Be calm, will you? We’re not receiving the devil himself.”
“And why shouldn’t we be as jumpy as bullfrogs on a full-mooned night?” Orrie asked, handing a cup of tea to Lily. “He’s not the devil, true, but he’s a man of mighty powers.”
“Alleged powers,” Lily corrected the family servant, then shook her head in amusement. “I can understand why you’re beside yourself, Orrie. You always were a glutton for such things. You dragged poor Cecille and me to every circus, carnival, or Gypsy caravan that came anywhere near Fort Smith. We were fed a steady diet of freak shows, fortune-tellers, and magicians.”
“And who was it who used to beg me to tell her a scary tale before she went abed?” Orrie challenged. “Why, I never saw a child more in love with frightful things than you.”
Lily shrugged. “Yes, as long as they were stories. But I have no use for those who try to make people think they’re magicians or sorcerers. What nonsense. We shouldn’t have listened to Father.” She released a long sigh of disgust. “Father doesn’t believe in this so-called psychic, but he managed to palm him off on us.”
“We can’t turn our back on any offer of help,” Nan said, laying aside her knitting to accept the cup and saucer Orrie offered her. “If there’s the slightest chance this man can locate Cecille …” Her voice trailed off and she took a tentative sip of the tea. “His room is ready, Orrie?”
“Has been since morning,” Orrie said, serving Howard. “Why don’t you sit, Mr. Meeker? You and Lily are wearing holes in the rug with your restless pacing.”
“I am a bit high-strung tonight.” Howard sat stiffly on the camelbacked sofa. Thunder rent the air and he glanced up. “It’s this storm that’s put my nerves on edge.”
The storm and this waiting, Lily thought. Usually Aunt Nan was the flighty one, always bustling and worrying about imagined slights, silly details, and every other thing her pessimistic mind could grasp. But tonight she was one of several nervous Nellies, Lily acknowledged, looking from one anxious expression to the next. This waiting … this hated waiting for the infamous Griffon Goforth had everyone leaping at every sound, every shifting of light. Lily went to the bay window and drew back the heavy draperies. The night was so black that she could see only her own reflection staring back at her.
Cecille, where are you? she wondered, not for the first time since New Year’s Day, when
she’d received the telegram that had alerted her to her cousin’s disappearance. She’d been visiting her father and stepmother in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and the disturbing news had made her hurry back to Arkansas.
Lily squinted to see the rain, but couldn’t until flashes of lightning illuminated the moonless night. She caught a glimpse of white and glanced over her shoulder to address the others.
“It is hailing. I can see the small balls bouncing on the street.”
“Thought so,” her uncle murmured.
“Hope this terrible weather doesn’t keep him from us,” Orrie said. “I’ve been so anxious to meet him. I don’t think I can wait ’til the ’morrow.”
“Really, Orrie,” Lily gently scolded as she faced the window again. “The moment you heard that Griffon Goforth was a Gypsy, you fell under his spell.”
“Did no such thing,” Orrie denied hotly, then added, “but everybody knows Gypsies make the best fortunetellers. They all got gifts in that way.”
Lily made a face, then smiled at her image in the glass pane. She loved Orrie, who’d practically raised her and Cecille with Aunt Nan’s fussy supervision, but the family retainer was a hive of superstitions. Well, the others might be taken in by Goforth’s reputation, but she wouldn’t be. Lily fixed a serene expression on her triangularly shaped face. Icy skepticism shone in her gingersnap eyes. She raised a hand to tuck wisps of her dark red hair back into her topknot and wondered what Cecille was doing on this storm-tossed night. Was she safe and warm? Did she long for her family as desperately as they longed for her?
“I pray this gentleman has some kind of gift, since the law officers around here are completely powerless when it comes to finding lost lambs,” Nan said.
“Yes,” Howard agreed. “If I hear them say once more that Cecille might have run off with a man without a word to us, I’ll … I’ll …”
Lily turned from the window in time to see her uncle ram one fist into the palm of his other hand, making a loud smack.
“Cecille wouldn’t have done such a thing,” Lily said. “And even if she had, she would have contacted us so that we wouldn’t worry needlessly. She’d never allow our suffering.”
Thunder and lightning chased each other and everyone fell silent to listen. Lily drank some of the tea to warm her insides.
“Listen to that wind howling,” Orrie whispered. “Mercy me, it’s an hellacious storm. Won’t it ever let up?”
Suddenly, a pounding rattled the door and Orrie and Nan smothered shrieks. Howard soared to his feet as if he’d been goosed by the sofa cushion. Lily felt her heart leap with a stab of fear before she forced laughter past her constricted throat.
“What a flock of scared chickens we are,” she said, still laughing. “Which of us will be brave enough to unlatch the door? It seems our visitor has arrived.”
Nan managed a twittering laugh. “I suppose a part of me didn’t think this man actually existed.”
The sound and the fury of the storm entered, sweeping leaves and other debris across the entry’s tiled floor. A mossy, dank smell filled the area and drifted into the parlor where Lily craned her neck to see the caller. The arched doorway obstructed her view. The fire in the hearth fought the current of air and danced wildly, throwing shadows hither and yon. A stranger stepped into the center of the foyer and Lily caught her breath in expectation.
Dressed in a black cloak that swung in deep folds from his wide shoulders, the man seemed larger than life. He was the same height as Howard, but twice as wide. He stomped his booted feet and pushed back the hood of his cape with a decidedly theatrical air, then turned his round, bearded face toward the parlor.
He certainly doesn’t look like a Gypsy, Lily thought, noting the man’s pale complexion and light-colored eyes. He was older than she’d imagined. Father had said he was a ward of a Harvard College colleague, so she’d assumed the colleague was her father’s age and that his ward would be years younger. But this man was certainly in his forties, as old as Father and Uncle Howard. He’d trimmed his brown beard to a point and he’d waxed his mustache. His eyes flashed with vivacity and his teeth glistened when he smiled.
“Good evening,” he said in his actor’s voice. “This is the Meeker residence, is it not?”
“It is, sir,” Howard answered, leaning sideways to see past him. The door closed, shutting out the storm and its roar.
But what had closed it? Lily wondered.
A black glove shot out from the folds of the man’s voluminous cloak. “Howard Meeker, is it?” He carried two travel satchels in his other hand.
“Y-yes.” Howard shook hands with him. “Welcome to Fort Smith and our home.”
“You’ve been expecting us,” the stranger said, and it was a flat statement, not an inquiry. He looked all around, eyes devouring the entryway, the parlor, the staircase. “And a fine house it is. A rich man’s house.”
Lily stiffened at that. The charlatan was already weighing Uncle Howard’s purse! Wait … had he said …? She stepped forward, drawn by the “us” reference. She peeked around the archway and caught sight of another figure, also wearing a hooded cloak. What’s this? she wondered. An assistant, manservant … perhaps Father’s colleague.
“May I take your cloak, Mr. Goforth?” Howard asked, reaching out an unsteady hand to the large, bearded stranger.
The man’s laughter boomed more loudly than the galloping thunder. “I am not Goforth,” he said with merriment, then swung off his cloak dramatically. It swirled from his shoulders like a dark cloud.
“Then who, pray, are you?” Lily demanded, thinking they were mad to admit two strangers on such a loathsome night.
The big man peered at her as if she were the oddity. “I am Balthazar, young miss,” he said, pronouncing his name with theatrical gusto. “Balthazar, faithful and grateful aide to the great and gifted Griffon Goforth.” He stepped back and flung out an arm to indicate his companion.
Lily’s attention shifted, her interest piqued as the other man lifted one hand to wipe the hood from his dark head. The dim light caught at a heavy gold ring on his middle finger. And was that …? Lily stifled a gasp. Yes! A tiny, thin circlet of gold glinted in his left earlobe.
“Thank you for welcoming us into your home,” Griffon Goforth said, his voice gentle and musical in contrast to his aide’s booming intonation. “I’m sorry to be dripping on your rug, but I’m afraid we’re soaked to the skin.”
He was an inch or two taller than Balthazar, but half as wide. Rain had plastered his dark hair to his head and drops glittered through it. As he glanced toward the parlor, Lily saw that he had beautiful eyes—silvery blue and deeply set, framed by plentiful, inky lashes.
“Orrie, take those wet cloaks and hang them near the kitchen hearth to dry,” Nan said, breaking through the trancelike silence. “I’m Mrs. Nan Meeker, gentlemen, and this is my niece, Miss Lily Meeker, and our housekeeper, Orrie.”
“Pleased to meet you ladies,” Griffon said, inclining his head, then he removed his cloak and gave it to the domestic.
He was dressed all in black, making Lily think of him as a dark knight. While his aide cultivated charisma through his flamboyant mannerisms, Griffon Goforth wore it as naturally as a leopard wears spots. Lily was hard-pressed to understand why; she only knew that she had difficulty averting her gaze from him.
“We got to thinkin’ the storm would force y’all off the road and you might not show up ’til mornin’,” Orrie said, edging closer to peek at Griffon. “I sure am glad you’re here. I was beginnin’ to fret you wouldn’t come a’tall.”
“But I gave my word,” Griffon said, smiling faintly at Orrie. “Although it is a devil of a night out there.”
“We met the train this afternoon, thinking you’d be on it,” Howard said.
&nbs
p; “We took the train most of the way, but I was feeling cramped and I forsook it for a pair of fast steeds.”
Balthazar issued a groan. “Yes, and where he goes go I. The ride upon that nag almost killed me.” He rested his hands on an ample belly that stretched his plaid waistcoat and challenged its gold buttons. “But we are here at last and ever so grateful to be in out of that cold, drenching rain.”
“Care for a cup of tea?” Orrie offered.
“Kind woman, I would give all my worldly goods for one,” Balthazar enthused, garnering a twittering laugh from Orrie.
“Please, won’t both of you join us in the parlor?” Nan suggested, indicating the tea tray. “Sit near the fire and warm yourselves.”
Balthazar motioned for Griffon to precede him. Lily stood beside the hearth while the two guests settled on either end of the sofa and waited for Orrie to serve them.
“I could scare up some sweet biscuits, if you want them,” Orrie said, getting another smile from Balthazar.
“Anything would be most appreciated,” the big man said. “I am, as you can see, a man of appetites.”
Orrie giggled as she hurried from the parlor to fetch the biscuits.
Nan perched on the edge of the rocking chair opposite her guests, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “We’ve prepared a room for you, Mr. Goforth, but we didn’t expect your assistant, so we’ll—”
“Zar can bunk with me,” Griffon said, referring to his aide. “We won’t take advantage of your hospitality for any longer than is necessary.”
“You are welcome to stay as long as needed,” Nan said. “We’re grateful for any help you can offer. It’s been about two months since we last saw our daughter and … we’re … well, we’re …”
“Desperate,” Lily supplied with a touch of malice. “Desperation is what drove us to employ your … services.” She spoke the last word grudgingly.
“Ah-ha!” Balthazar held up one finger, poking at the air, eyes alight. “We have among us a true skeptic.” He smacked his lips. “Goody. I love to watch Griffon bring unbelievers to their knees.”
Lily arched a brow and stared down the bridge of her nose at the paunchy daredevil. “I have never, nor shall I ever, bend my knees to any mortal man.” She shifted her gaze to Griffon. “You do claim to be mortal, don’t you?”