A couple of hours later Jesse stepped out of a taxi and gave a low whistle as he studied the Smith mansion. The place must have had more than twenty rooms. Based on what Hunter had told him, misbegotten money had paid for the place.
He rang the doorbell and waited a very short time before the door was opened by a middle-aged woman who gave the appearance of a cook. She was cheerful looking, with rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes. She patted her hair as she looked him up and down. “Yes?”
“I would like to see Mrs. Smith.”
“If you’re one of those reporters, you can just turn yourself around and go back down those steps. Mrs. Smith is resting and will not speak to any members of the press.”
Jesse took out his business card and handed it to the woman. “I’m not with the press. Please give Mrs. Smith my card. I’m sure she will see me.”
Even though she appeared skeptical, the woman opened the door wider and allowed him to enter. “Stay right here.” She pointed at his chest like a recalcitrant child.
He grinned at her protectiveness and nodded to assure her he was not about to make off with the family silver in her absence. While he waited, he looked around. Mr. Smith had certainly lived high on the hog. The floor under his feet was marble, with thick carpet lining the parlor to his right and the dining room to his left. The staircase was enormous; ‘sweeping’ was the word that came to mind.
A movement caught his eye, and he watched as a young, very frightened looking woman came down the stairs. Dark circles under her eyes gave her a haunted appearance. Her blonde hair had been put up in a hurry, with locks falling around her forehead and temples. She clutched a handkerchief in her hand that appeared to have been given a lot of use.
She took furtive steps toward him. “Are you really Hunter’s Uncle Jesse?”
“Yes, I am. You are Mrs. Smith?”
She took one deep shaky breath and nodded her head. Then she flew into his arms, sobbing as if her heart were breaking.
Chapter 18
“Is there somewhere we can go that’s a bit more private?” Jesse patted the young woman on her back, somewhat uncomfortable with servants walking around.
She pulled back and wiped her nose. “Yes. I’m sorry. You must think me a dolt. It’s just that . . .”
“I understand.”
She was a pretty little thing, Hunter’s Emily. In some ways she reminded him of Michael’s Heidi. Her big blue eyes and blonde curls gave her a delicate, vulnerable look. Her reddened nose from crying didn’t help. Based on what Hunter had told him, Jesse would very much like to beat Mr. Smith senseless for putting his fists to this woman if the man weren’t already dead.
“Mrs. Granger, will you please send in refreshments?” Mrs. Smith gave her instructions to the woman who had answered the door as she led Jesse to a very pleasant room. By the decorations and furniture, it must have been her sitting room. He eyed the elegant, but fragile furniture, and chose the settee near the fireplace.
“How is Hunter? I assume you’ve seen him?”
“Yes. I just left the jailhouse.” He stopped when she began to cry again.
She took a deep breath and attempted a smile. “I am sorry, please go on.”
“Needless to say he is quite anxious about you, and how you are dealing with all of this.”
“I would be handling it much better if Hunter hadn’t been accused of Louis’s murder.” She hopped up from her chair and paced. “That’s the worst part. Then there’s the funeral Friday. I finally had to bar the door to visitors who were expecting me to discuss the horror of what’s happened, when my main concern is Hunter.” Taking her seat again, she added, “Can you imagine the scandal if anyone knew my main concern was not my husband’s death, but how his accused murderer is being treated? And—”
She stopped speaking when the door to the sitting room opened and Mrs. Granger entered with a tray of coffee, tea, and some type of sandwiches and pastries. She set the tray down and Emily thanked her with a smile. The woman cast curious glances at him, but eventually left the room.
“I can’t trust any of the staff.” Emily stood and moved to the tray. “Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, please. No sugar, a bit of cream.”
She fixed his coffee, then placed a few small sandwiches and two pastries on a plate and brought them to him.
“Why do you say you can’t trust the staff?”
Mrs. Smith fixed a cup of tea, then took the chair across from him. “How much has Hunter told you about me?”
“Enough that I know he felt you were in danger here and wanted to get you away from Galveston. He gave me some details. I’m an attorney, I didn’t need to hear much more to know what your situation was.”
She colored slightly, which he’d found to be a common response from a woman who was being abused. For some reason they were embarrassed by it. Something he never understood, but acknowledged.