“Well, it doesn’t make much sense,” Irish said, “but I got the impression that Nathan stayed close so he could protect everyone else.” He laughed. “An old man’s fanciful notions, I’m afraid. Can’t give you an example to explain it clearly, but it was always there at the back of my mind when I’d see them together: Brig taking charge and Nathan letting him, but Nath always watchful.”
Lydia thought about that. Striving for nonchalance, she asked, “Did Nathan ever tell you about Ginny Flynt?”
“Ginny Flynt? No, I don’t—Oh, you mean the whore who was murdered in San Francisco. Yes, Nath mentioned it. Ugly business, that.” He frowned, his deeply blue eyes clouding. “You don’t think…you’re not suggesting it was Nathan who did it?”
“Not at all,” Lydia said. “I’ve been thinking about it off and on since my memory returned. It wasn’t Nathan. It never was. Brigham Moore’s the killer.”
Lydia collectedher books from the desktop and her reticule from a side drawer. She glanced around the classroom, saw that everything was in order, and stood up. “You can go on home, Kit,” she said. “You don’t have to walk me to the hotel.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. Kit was sporting a yellow-and-purple bruise under his left eye, the result of an after-school altercation. Walking Lydia back to Petty’s was more for his own protection than it was for hers though he would never come right out and say so. He’d got the shiner for defending Lydia against an insult. She would never know that, either.
“Well, if you’re sure.” Lydia dropped her books in his outstretched arms. “Would you like to stay for dinner with me at the hotel? We’ll stop by the Garrisons and let them know.”
“I’d like that fine.”
“Good.” She reached out to ruffle his dark blond hair, saw his suffering glance, and withdrew, “Sorry. I forgot.”
Kit rolled his eyes and grinned. “It’s all right. You can do it this—” He broke off as the door to the classroom opened. Lydia had gone very still, her attention completely centered on the person in the doorway. Kit felt her shock. More than that, he sensed her fear. He looked over his shoulder to see who was standing there.
“Good afternoon, Lydia,” Brigham said. Leaning casually against the doorjamb, an insouciant smile on his lips, Brigham Moore felt the full impact of Lydia’s reaction and enjoyed it. “Father Colgan said I would find you here. He’s always been helpful. Part of his nature, I suppose.”
“Miss Chadwick?” Kit asked, his brows creasing. “Do you want—”
Lydia placed a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder. “It’s all right, Kit. Go on and wait in the hallway for me. I won’t be but a few minutes, then we’ll leave together.” She gave him a nudge. “Go on.”
Kit’s look was skeptical, but he complied, his eyes darting between Lydia and her visitor right up until the moment he was closed out of the classroom.
Palms sweating, Lydia folded her arms across her midriff in a self-protecting gesture. Brigham looked much as she remembered him: square-jawed, even-featured, with a rakish cock to his head. His sandy hair and tawny brows were a shade lighter, the result, she thought, of spending a lot of time on a ship’s deck without benefit of a hat. His face had the same open, pleasing expression he wore so well, and his green eyes were brightened by his easy smile. Now that she knew he was alive, Lydia had the luxury of wishing him dead. “You’re a thorough bastard,” she said calmly. “I’m glad for this opportunity to tell you so.”
Brigham laughed, genuinely enjoying himself. He pushed away from the door and took a seat on one of the children’s desktops. His long legs were stretched in front of him, his ankles crossed, and he picked up a pencil and tapped it lightly against his thigh. “I wondered what your first words would be,” he said. “Nothing so trite as ‘My God, you’re alive!’ Still, that’s what I sensed when you saw me. You thought you were seeing things for a moment.”
Lydia did not respond to his baiting. “How did you find me?”
“First let me say that your mother and Samuel send their love. They’re worried about you, Lydia. Your father hired me to bring you back to San Francisco. Set me up with passage money and a sizable down payment as a guarantee for your eventual return.”
“That’s a lie. He would never do that. He knows how I feel about you.”
“Oh? How would he know that? You’re probably referring to the bedroom window incident. But you treated Nathan and me alike on that occasion, remember? And you’re married to Nathan now, aren’t you? I don’t think Samuel knows what to think.”
“Nathan said he explained everything to Papa in a letter.”
Brigham shrugged. “The only one I know about is the one written in your hand saying that you eloped with Nathan. There was never any other. I stayed with Samuel and Madeline while I was recovering. Did Nathan tell you that? Yes, I see that he did. I would have known about a letter to Samuel if there had been one.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lydia said. Somehow Brig was responsible for her father not getting his letter. Lydia believed that just as surely as she believed Nathan had written one. “I’ve been here more than seven weeks. Not only has Papa received something from me by now, but I won’t have much longer to wait for his reply.”
Brig nodded. It was not unexpected that Samuel would eventually learn the truth from Lydia. He was philosophical about it. “It had to happen sooner or later,” he said easily, “I really never had any intention of taking you back to Frisco. You needn’t worry yourself on that account.”
“What do you want, Brigham?” Every nerve in her body was stretched taut.
“Right now?” He came to his feet lazily and smiled. “I just wanted to let you know I’m here, Lydia. As for what I want later?” He dropped the pencil he’d been holding back on the desk. “That will have to be decided between Nathan and me. I’m afraid you don’t have any say in the matter.”
By the time a response came to Lydia she was alone.
Two days passedbefore she saw Brigham again. He was waiting for her when the school day was ended, standing on the steps of Saint Benedict’s, squinting in the bright afternoon sunlight, and looking for all the world as if he hadn’t a single worry. Because she didn’t want to make a scene, and because the route back to Petty’s Hotel was crowded with pedestrians, Lydia allowed Brig to accompany her. Kit, though he had been dismissed by Brigham, followed in Lydia’s wake at a discreet distance.
“What is it you want now, Brigham? I haven’t any liking for this cat-and-mouse game of yours.” She pulled back her elbow sharply when he made to escort her across George Street.
Brigham pretended to take offense, giving Lydia a wounded look. “My, aren’t you the haughty one. I think I detect your mother’s fine influence. Tell me, have you heard from her yet? Or Samuel?”
