Half Breed's Bride

Book 10: Panorama of the Old West

by Georgina Gentry

Genres: Historical Fiction; Sagas; Historical Romance

Synopsis

In Sioux Slave, Nevada Nights, Quicksilver Passion, and Apache Caress, Georgina Gentry captivated readers with her thrilling tales of action-packed romance, lusty adventure and sizzling passion. Teeming with the colorful history and vivid excitement of the American west, her stories are breathtaking journeys into a distant place and time—sure to capture your heart forever! HALF-BREED'S BRIDE Born dirt-poor, Sassy Malone had only her wits and wiles to get her by in life. So when tragedy struck her soon-to-be-wed employer, the feisty lass seized her chance: Armed with a new identity, she passed herself off as a high-class lady and boarded the ship bound west for the untamed Washington Territory—and an arranged marriage to a wealthy rancher. Though the all-too-virile Hunter made it all too clear that she was not the blushing bride he'd imagined, Sassy saw the searing desire in his eyes. She also knew something else: The big, dark loner harbored a savage secret. And as passions ignited in his scorching embrace and days of rapturous loving flamed into nights of unending wedded bliss, Sassy vowed she'd uncover his dangerous past. For her future belonged to this rugged, raven-haired lover who'd captured her very heart and soul! "Nobody does it like Georgina Gentry does." —Barbra Critiques

Release date: May 16, 2014

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 448

Sample

“Hell, I’m not sure if I even want a mail order bride!” Hunter confessed, looking from the letter in his hand to the half-dressed whores sitting around Lulu’s office.

The fat madam leaned her elbows on her desk and waited. “If you’re havin’ second thoughts, handsome, any one of my girls would be happy to marry—”

“No thanks,” Hunter snapped. “The type of wife I had in mind—”

“We know; we know.” Lulu drawled as she pulled her purple satin wrapper around her huge bulk. “You’re picky.”

Hunter looked at the letter again, misgivings in his soul. What the hell was he letting himself in for? He leaned to hand the paper to the plump madam of Lulu’s Lovelies. “Here, girls, I called you all in to get your opinion. Lulu, read it aloud and see what they think.”

Lulu took it, rolling her eyes. “I’ll swan! Honestly, Hunter, if you weren’t one of my establishment’s best customers ...” Her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat. “ ‘To Whom It May Concern:’ ”

Blanche fiddled with the soiled lace on her corset cover. “That ain’t too romantic, is it?”

The girls all tittered. Hunter paused in lighting a thin cheroot and frowned at her. “This is not about romance, Blanche; it’s a business deal.” He shook the match out, broke it in half. A man who spent as much time as he did around timber always thought about fires.

Lulu’s double chin quivered as she began again in her thick southern accent. “ ‘To Whom It May Concern: The bearer of this letter has been authorized to present it to a prospective bride whom he has deemed suitable. ’ ”

The whores all giggled and Lulu rolled her eyes, the lamplight reflecting off the rings on her fat fingers. She reached for the pen on her desk. “Maybe I could make some changes. I told you before it won’t attract—”

“It may attract the kind of wife I’m looking for.” He crossed his long legs and shrugged his wide shoulders. “Hell! I want her to know up front what she’s getting into.”

Lulu sighed as if she knew it was useless to argue with such a stubborn man and turned her attention again to the letter. “ ‘By suitable, I am in need of a wife of sturdy stock, good family, spotless personal reputation, and capable of bearing children.’ ”

Blanche giggled again. “Hunter, Lamby Pie, why don’t you just ask her to bring her pedigree with her, the way you’d do if you was buyin’ a mare?”

“In effect, that’s just what I’m doing, buying breeding stock.” He didn’t laugh. Hunter seldom laughed. Life had been a serious, uphill fight to success and power. Now he had both. “If this mail-order bride is to be my wife and the mother of my sons, she has to have a spotless reputation. I won’t be snickered at or have other men laughing behind my back.”

Like they did my father, Hunter thought bitterly and absently ran his hand through his black, curly hair. Some things money couldn’t buy. “Finish reading, Lulu, I haven’t got all night. I’ve got to get this letter to Mercer before he sails.”

“What about love?” Claire demanded.

“What about it? Overrated, if you ask me,” Hunter scoffed, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. “That’s what you girls sell here. I’m not into silly mooning and sappy poetry. This marriage is going to be a solid business deal, just as the letter states. For my part, I get a back-East blue blood to preside over my empire and produce sons for me. She gets money, security, and—”

“Does that mean you won’t be comin’ here no more?” Claire stuck out her lower lip.

“I told you this marriage is a business deal, plain and simple.” He shrugged. “I don’t suppose a prim lady wants a man botherin’ her any more than necessary to produce children; at least, that’s what I’ve heard. Finish reading, Lulu; it’s getting late.”

Lulu read, describing Hunter’s house with a real piano and how he would be waiting on the dock when the ship arrived, and ended with a description of him: “ ‘I am tall, dark, and not bad looking. I will be dressed in black with a black western hat. Expecting a mutually rewarding life together. Sincerely, James Hunter.’ ”

Blanche studied her long nails. “If a guy sent me a letter like that, I’d throw it away.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Claire challenged. “Not if it were Hunter, no matter what it said.”

The whores all laughed and even Lulu smiled.

Hunter frowned, reached to take the letter from her fat fingers. “I should have known I couldn’t count on you girls to be serious.” Life was totally serious to Hunter. He stood up. “Lulu, what do I owe—”

“Never mind, never mind.” She waved his thanks away and leaned back in her chair. It creaked under her weight. “A little out of my line, but I was happy to help. God knows you and all that crew of yours do enough business in my establishment.” The girls giggled again.

Hunter, looking at Lulu with her heavy layer of white face-powder and scarlet rouge, wondered if she had ever been pretty in her younger days.

“I’ll swan! I just have to warn you, Hunter, I can’t imagine what kind of girl would consider such a cold marriage proposal as that,” Lulu drawled.

“The kind of no-nonsense, mature woman I’m looking for—prim, highly respectable—who’ll appreciate my honesty as I’ll appreciate hers.” He took a final puff of his cigar, tossed it into the spittoon, then tucked the letter in the pocket of his fine, black broadcloth coat.

“But, Hunter,” Lulu reminded him as she reached for a cookie from the plate on her desk, “you didn’t really tell her much about yourself—”

“I told her all that’s important,” he snapped. “A marriage is a business contract and should be handled as such. I don’t want some silly female with dreamy ideas about romance. Much obliged, Lulu. Good night, girls.”

“Aw,” Blanche pouted, “don’t go. I thought maybe after a little rest, you’d—”

“Sorry, girls, I’ve got to get this letter to Mercer; his ship leaves at dawn.” Turning, he took his black Western hat off the rack and went out into the rainy, cool night.

Lulu stared after the darkly handsome man whose eyes were the bright color of an azure sky. He was a strange one, all right, dressed in fine clothes cut to hang well on his big frame. He hadn’t told the prospective bride about his background and Lulu had not dared suggest it. In fact, he might be furious if he knew how much she knew about him. Hunter was a very private, lonely man who kept everyone at arm’s length. Such a contrast to his suave brother, Lulu thought. Not many people except Swede even knew he had a brother, and Hunter didn’t know she knew.

Lulu pulled her purple satin robe around her bulk. “It’s gettin’ late, girls. Get yourselves fixed up. Customers will be comin’ in soon.”

“It ain’t as if we have any competition,” Blanche complained. “Except for a few squaws over at the Illahee and a few respectable wives from that last little bunch of mail-order brides, there ain’t any women in Seattle.”

Lulu began to clear off her desk. She put away the pen, paper, and ink and shook her head, thinking. Stubborn son-of-a-bitch. Ask for help with a letter, then won’t take it. Independent as some damned Yankee. Aloud, she said, “We’re about to get some competition if Asa Mercer succeeds in bringin’ in that whole ship-load of brides; and he may, what with the war almost over and his friendship with President Lincoln.”

Blanche pouted and pulled up her stockings. “What kind of girl do you think will accept that letter?”

“Maybe no one,” Claire yawned and pushed back a dark curl as she paused in the doorway leading to the hall, “but he ain’t gonna marry you, Blanche, or none of us. Hunter wants a lady.”

“No lady can give him the fun we do.” Blanche grinned and winked. “He’ll be back; you wait and see. The lady might get the ring and that big house, but as long as he keeps comin’ in here a couple of times a week and slippin’ big money in my stocking top—”

“I’d like him to slip a big something in more than my stocking,” Sal said wistfully. “He never chooses me.”

“Ya’ll give him time.” Lulu made a soothing gesture. “After all, we ain’t been open but a few months. I reckon that big stud’ll get around to all of you.” Lulu knew why the lumber king craved respectability. Lulu knew more about Hunter than he would want anyone to know. When she’d met his older brother in New Orleans, he’d snickered about Hunter.

Lulu looked in the mirror on her office wall. Another gray hair among her blond locks and, despite the thick powder and rouge, her wrinkles showed. Once she had been young, thin, and pretty, but that was a long time and a lot of men ago. “At least the girl who comes to marry Hunter won’t expect romance, just marriage.”

Blanche giggled again as they left the office to greet the first customers of the evening. “Maybe he’ll change his mind and pick one of us.”

Lulu smiled wryly. “Don’t ya’ll hold your breath ’til that happens. Hunter’s pride would never let him marry a slut.” Knowing what she did, Lulu was sure of it.

Outside on the muddy street, Hunter turned his coat collar up against the damp wind and pulled his hat down over his blue eyes. He could feel the marks of Blanche’s nails on his broad back and still taste Claire’s hot kisses. Lulu’s Lovelies had seen a lot of him and the other loggers in the few months the place had been open.

Hunter felt for the letter in his pocket. Just what the hell was he getting himself into? It isn’t too late to throw it away and forget it, he reminded himself with a frown.

Slowly he lit a cigar and blew out the match, broke it in half, and tossed it. Hunter, you damned fool. He stared at the glowing tip of his smoke. What kind of man would propose marriage to a stranger? Well, weren’t these mail-order brides going to be carefully screened? With so many men dead in the Civil War, word was that a lot of respectable women had been left widowed or orphaned and were desperate enough to go thousands of miles to marry men they’d never met.

Hunter wasn’t getting any younger; he had passed twenty-five. What good was being one of the richest men in the Territory if he had no children to inherit it? He thought about his father and shivered, wondering if that terrible thing ran in the blood, could be inherited? He’d never discussed that with anyone; Hunter wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Maybe he shouldn’t want children, but he did. For that reason alone, he could stand to bed some cold little aristocrat once a year. No doubt she’d be relieved if he took his virile appetites down to Lulu’s, because ladies weren’t supposed to like making love.

Was that what had driven his father into the arms of a beautiful Indian whore?

Hell. He didn’t want to think about that because it reminded him of his nightmares. No one knew about the nightmares; he’d never discussed them even with Swede. If he married, what would his wife think when he woke up shaking, drenched in sweat? He took one last drag on his cheroot and stared at the glowing tip as he tossed it in a puddle. Then he started briskly for Asa Mercer’s place before he changed his mind and listened to his own misgivings.

Asa Mercer was the president of the new university, which had no students. Hunter allowed himself a rare smile. In lieu of teaching, Mercer was taking donations to bring back a ship-load of brides from back East. Hunter decided that he would double the three hundred dollars the others were giving Mercer so he would get the choicest lady on board. In a few months, Mercer would return with a hand-picked bride for Hunter, and maybe the lady need never know his own shadowy secrets. All Hunter had to do until then was build his wealth, pick out a name for his son, and wait for the future mother to be delivered.

Sassy Malone hugged her burly father once more and looked into the five little, freckled faces so much like her own. “Aye, don’t be so sad. We’ll meet again someday.” In her heart, she wasn’t sure it was true; and, judging from her brothers’ and sisters’ expressions, none of them thought so either.

“Aye,” Mike agreed in his thick Irish accent, “sure we will. Now you children don’t be makin’ Sassy feel bad. ’Tis hard enough for her to go.”

A big lump came up in her throat that she thought would choke her, but she tried to keep tears from overflowing her brown eyes. “By the saints, ’tis a grand adventure I’ll be having accompanying Miss Merriweather; and I’ll keep sending money, just like always.” Sassy prayed her father would never learn how she had been earning her money before she found a respectable position as a lady’s personal maid a few months ago. She had only done what she had to do, yet Mike Malone was a proud, old-fashioned man. The family had been desperate, but Papa would have starved before he’d have taken money earned that way.

Papa’s weather-beaten face reddened as he looked at his scarred arm. “I’m only glad your mother didn’t live to see what a pretty pass I’ve brought to her children. It is a shameful thing indeed that the whole family becomes the responsibility of a mere slip of a girl.”

“Now, Papa, I’m almost nineteen and didn’t mind helping out after you were hurt on that construction site. Now that you’re well, there must be someone who’ll hire the Irish.”

“Nobody’s hiring the Irish,” little Megan piped up. “They chase us home when we leave the neighborhood, calling us ‘shanty Micks.’ ”

“We’re as good as anybody, we Malones. All you children remember that,” Sassy snapped, stroking Megan’s dark red hair.

“Aye,” Mike agreed, “your mother was a lady; a real highborn lady.” His rough face saddened. “She gave up a lot to run away to America with me.” He slipped Maureen’s ring from his little finger, his own from his left hand. “Sassy, here’s the Claddagh rings we gave each other the night we wed. I want you to have them.”

“But, Papa, the rings mean so much to you—”

“She’d want you to have them, me darlin’ girl.” His callused hand pressed the two gold rings into her palm, closed her fingers over them. She felt his hand tremble as if he couldn’t bear to think of his dear, dead Maureen. He cleared his throat. “Remember the saying that goes with a Claddagh ring: ‘Let love and friendship reign.’ May they bring you love and luck.”

She leaned to kiss his weathered face one more time. “If they bring me a man like you, Papa, I’ll be more than blessed.”

He made an awkward, dismissing gesture. “Get along with you now before you miss your train back to New York. Maybe you and your Miss Merriweather will both meet very eligible gentlemen.”

Little Ian said proudly, “There’s no one good enough for our Sassy!”

The others set up a chorus of agreement, and Sassy had to fight to hold tears back as she kissed them all, thinking she might never see them again. “I—I’ll write and I’ll send money when I can.” Sassy put the rings on a small chain around her neck, then reached to rumple the reddish hair of Paddy, the youngest brother, named for Papa’s brother, Patrick. Patrick’s family was supposed to have immigrated just before the war started, but they’d lost track of him and his family’s whereabouts. One more tragedy for Mike.

“Oh, daughter,” Mike’s face furrowed, “are you sure now you know what you’re about? The papers have been full of talk about this Asa Mercer. Some say Washington is a wild place full of savages and trees as big around as a house. Some say the girls will be used for . . .” He glanced at the big-eyed children, then his honest face reddened and he didn’t finish.

Sassy closed her eyes momentarily. If Mike had known how she had disgraced the Malone name, he wouldn’t have touched the money she had sent home this past year. Only a short time ago, she had fled both New York and Brett James and found honest work in Philadelphia as a lady’s personal maid. “Papa, I told you Miss Merriweather has exhausted her money and is determined to go. If I don’t go with her, I won’t have a job. You know how hard work is to come by with the war ended and things slowing down, especially for the Irish.”

He nodded and sighed. “Aye, I know, but me heart won’t accept it.”

Besides, Brett James was looking for her, Sassy thought. And when he found her, no doubt he’d kill her.

Little Megan said, “Maybe we can come to Washington, too, someday.”

“We’ll all ask Our Lady to intercede for us,” Sassy said a little too brightly, touching the rings. Her gaze caught Mike’s, and his sad expression told her he was thinking the same thing she was: passage for a big family would be expensive. The Malones would never be able to raise that much money.

Mike patted the child on the head. “Maybe someday.”

Sassy looked around the cramped tenement. The dirty streets of a teeming Boston slum were no place for children to grow up. The best she could do was hope that she would be able to send them a little money, although Miss Merriweather was as tight as a cork in a bottle. “I must hurry. My employer is short-tempered and doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” She hugged and kissed each one again.

Sassy managed to hold back her tears until she descended the dingy stairs and walked into the cold afternoon, then they made warm trickles down her freckled cheeks. She had probably seen her family for the very last time, yet she had promised her mother on her deathbed that she would look out for them. Big Mike Malone had seemed to disintegrate like a frightened child with his beloved Maureen gone. Sassy reached to touch the gold rings with the small heart motif. Even Queen Victoria wore a Claddagh ring. Love and friendship. Sassy never expected to find that kind of marriage—especially not if the man found out about her unforgivable past. Maybe not even God could forgive it. She hurried down the street, shivering in the cold. At least now Sassy had an honest job. If she hadn’t been so naive and innocent, she would never have gotten mixed up with Brett James. Sassy pulled her worn coat collar up around her dark red hair. She wasn’t innocent anymore. The handsome, dapper saloon-owner had seen to that.

By lifting her skirts and running, Sassy climbed aboard the train just as it was ready to pull out. Miss Sophia Merriweather scowled as Sassy rushed down the aisle breathlessly.

“Well, Shawnna, it took you long enough!” the thin-faced aristocrat snapped. “I’ve been waiting for you to get me a cup of tea. I’m not feeling well.”

Sassy had to force herself to hold her temper, reminding herself that she needed this job; Holy Mother, how she needed this job! It wasn’t for nothing her family had nicknamed her ‘Sassy.’ She sat down. “If you please, ma’am, I was only gone two hours. Little enough time to say goodbye to my family—probably forever.”

A scowl crossed the elegant lady’s plain face. “You Irish! So sloppily sentimental.”

“Aye, we are that.” She tried to feel sympathy for Miss Merriweather. After all, what could the sour spinster know about families? She had been reared in a boarding school called Miss Priddy’s Academy after her parents died. During the war, the executor of her father’s estate had made some unwise investments, impoverishing his ward. Miss Merriweather was fast running out of money and hoped to find a rich husband in Washington Territory, where women were scarce and beauty not so important. Otherwise, there was no way that very civilized lady would have considered becoming one of Mercer’s mail-order brides. Desperate circumstances called for desperate decisions, Sassy thought. “I’ll get you some tea, ma’am,” she said docilely and stood up; but just then the train puffed and lurched as it began to move, sending her falling back into her seat.

Miss Merriweather’s thin lips set in a grim line. “See? Now it’s too late. I won’t get any tea until the next station.”

Sassy bit her lip to keep from pointing out that Sophia Merriweather could certainly have gotten herself a cup of tea in the station during these two hours while she waited for her maid to return. Miss Merriweather had the disposition of a wounded lioness and might fire Sassy on the spot. I—I’ll do better.”

“I should take it out of your pay.”

“You owe me three months back wages now,” Sassy muttered.

“What did you say?”

Remember how much you need this job, Sassy reminded herself. And how hard it is for an Irish girl to get a position at all. Sooner or later, she’ll pay you, and at least you’ve been getting board and room. “I said I’m deeply sorry for my shortcomings.” She settled back in her seat and looked around at the people traveling in the coach.

Miss Merriweather’s gaze followed hers. “My father would roll over in his grave if he knew his only child was now forced to ride with all these poor, ragged immigrants.” She sniffed in disdain and then put a dainty handkerchief to her nose to keep from smelling the odors around her. “In the old days, I had real servants. Dear Daddy would be so upset if he knew I was almost penniless, having to make do with one Irish girl. Daddy would never hire the Irish; he thought we should send them all back where they belonged.”

Sassy forced herself not to reply. She must change the subject. “Are you looking forward to Washington Territory? I hear it’s beautiful.”

Her choice of subjects was poor. She realized it immediately as Miss Merriweather frowned again. “If I weren’t down to my last few dollars because of the idiot who invested my money in that Huntington Uniform Factory, I wouldn’t have lost everything.” The spinster touched her chest. “It just gives me pains to think about it.”

Huntington, Sassy thought. Could that be Albert Huntington, the man Brett James killed? No, couldn’t be; too coincidental. “Perhaps you’ll meet a rich husband—”

“Imagine someone of my family background having to marry some uncouth frontiersman!” Miss Merriweather put her handkerchief to her mouth, annoyed.

“Well, now, you could get a job like I did,” Sassy blurted without thinking.

Sophia Merriweather scowled and her thin lips curled into a sneer. “That’s all right, I suppose, for a common Mick, but a lady doesn’t go to work. How dare you even use that nasty, unthinkable word to me!”

Sassy touched the rings hanging under her dress collar, thinking Maureen had been twice the lady Miss Merriweather could ever be and when construction jobs were hard to come by for Papa, Maureen sometimes had done housework at the fine Van Schuyler estate in Boston. However, Sassy held back her fiery retort and reminded herself that Washington Territory might be a fresh start for her, too. She certainly couldn’t afford to go except with her employer buying the passage. Sassy apologized again.

Miss Merriweather coughed as she looked out the coach window at the snowy landscape whizzing by. “I’m not feeling at all well, but then real ladies have such delicate constitutions.”

Sassy decided to ignore the jab, leaned back in her seat, and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. No matter what she did or how hard she worked, she couldn’t seem to make Sophia Merriweather like her. She had heard another lady’s maid say it was because Sassy was pretty and Miss Merriweather was not. Sassy’s beauty was what had taken Brett’s eye and gotten her into that nightmare existence she was now trying to escape.

They reached New York City and checked into a modest, but respectable hotel on a cold January night. The ship was due to sail tomorrow. Sassy dealt with all the luggage and arrangements while Miss Merriweather sat and complained; but then, Miss Merriweather always complained. No wonder she couldn’t get a husband, Sassy thought with exasperation. Only in some area where there was a shortage of women would mail-order brides like her be sought after.

Miss Merriweather ordered dinner sent up to their room. It was a skimpy meal, but then, Sassy knew the money was getting low. Sassy didn’t get quite enough to eat, but she didn’t reach for seconds. The prim spinster took the extra for herself and then complained all evening that she felt bloated and had heartburn.

Sassy prayed for patience and decided not to point out that the lady probably didn’t feel well because she had eaten so much. “Ma’am, should I call a doctor?” Sassy asked politely.

“No, you idiot! I don’t want to spend the money. I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Sassy nodded, helped her into her nightgown, and then packed their things. The ship was leaving tomorrow. Sassy wouldn’t feel safe until she was on it and it sailed out of New York harbor. There was always just the slightest chance one of Brett’s henchmen might have seen Sassy coming from the train station or would spot her as the pair went to catch their ship. Sassy wasn’t even sure whether Brett’s Black Garter was closed permanently. She did know he and Marylou would still be looking for Sassy since her testimony could put nooses around their necks.

She went to bed and lay there in the dark, unable to sleep even if her employer hadn’t been snoring in a most unladylike way. Some lady. Maureen Malone had taught her own daughter about proper manners and Sassy had been struggling to do away with her Irish accent because it annoyed the sour spinster so. Why, if she ever got the chance, she could certainly be more of a lady than Sophia, for all her blue blood.

At least her employer had said she had bought the tickets in advance, so they had their ship passage already paid for. She wondered why Miss Merriweather was even bothering to take an Irish maid whom she didn’t like all the way to Washington Territory? Knowing how prejudiced the prim lady was, she probably didn’t want to put up with an Indian servant and, besides, she’d have to train a new girl. At least she needed Sassy to fetch and carry for her until they got on the ship; ladies didn’t make tea and pack their own luggage.

It was a long time before she dropped off to sleep with Miss Merriweather snoring away.

Sassy awoke with a start. It was still dark and the hotel room felt cool. What time was it? She’d have to get up early to fix Miss Merriweather some tea. At least Miss Merriweather had finally stopped snoring.

Sassy sighed and sat up slowly. It must not be long ’til dawn. She wished she could lie in the warm bed a few more minutes; but she had always worked hard, even when she was a small girl, because the Malones were so poor. Mama had once had a fine house, too, and had given it all up for Papa when her father had said she couldn’t marry Mike. Sassy had seen her mother die because there was no money for medicine, seen her little brothers and sisters hungry and ragged after Papa had his accident. Desperation had driven her out to find work and she had walked innocently into a nightmare.

Thinking about the danger Brett James posed to her, she decided the sooner she got on that ship, the safer she would be. She got up and dressed in a plain, frumpy dress—one of Miss Merriweather’s discards—and tried to be grateful that they were both almost the same size so she could wear the lady’s hand-me-downs. She checked to make sure everything was packed up, then made a pot of tea on the little oil burner and sipped a cup. It was warm and bracing in the cool room. She wished she had thick cream for her tea and a warm sugar-bun covered with melted butter and homemade jam. Ah, well, maybe someday.... Sassy finished her tea.

Now all she had to do was wake Miss Merriweather and get her ready. She’d just as soon wake a sleeping bear, but it was part of her job. She tiptoed over to the bed. “Miss Merriweather? Time to get up.”

The grumpy spinster gave no sign she was even considering answering, much less complying.

“Ma’am, remember? We’ve a ship to catch.”

The woman lay with her back to Sassy. She didn’t move.

Sassy reached out, touched her shoulder. “Miss Merriweather, we’ll have to get ready to ...” Sassy’s voice trailed off as she shook the lady.

“Miss Merriweather?” With growing horror and disbelief, Sassy reached to touch the lady’s hand then recoiled at the feel of icy flesh.

“Holy Mother of God!” Sassy gasped and crossed herself. Miss Merriweather would never shout or curse at Sassy again.

The prim lady was dead.

Horrified, Sassy crossed herself again and backed away from the bed. Holy Mother of God, what should she do? A doctor. She should get a doctor. Whirling, she ran for the door. Halfway there, she stopped and looked back at the body. No, a doctor wouldn’t do any good. The coldness of Miss Merriweather’s skin told her the lady had been dead for hours. Oh, why hadn’t she called a doctor last night? Miss Merriweather complained so constantly, Sassy hadn’t taken her seriously.

The police. Of course she must notify the authorities. Heart pounding hard, she paused with her hand on the knob. Dear God, suppose they accused her of killing her employer?

What to do? Sassy leaned against the door and trembled. Outside, a raw north wind whipped around the building, wailing like a banshee.

If she went for the police, at the very least there would be an investigation and Sassy might get her name in the paper. Suppose Brett James saw it and came looking for her? As a witness to the m