Bishop didn’t
doubt that Louise Linton had meant exactly what she’d said. He gave the maid a
shallow smile. “Tell the children I’m here and that I want to talk to them.
I’ll deal with Mrs. Linton.”
“Deal with me, Bishop?” Louise Linton’s sharp voice preceded her
into the room. “That sounds very much like a threat.”
Bishop was struck, as always, by the amazing amount of presence
she carried with her. She was a small woman, barely five feet tall, with a
reed-thin body that gave her a delicate, almost birdlike appearance. But if
Louise Linton had been a bird, it would have been a hawk, not only because of
the fierce intelligence in her pale-blue eyes but because of the sheer ruthlessness
with which she dealt with anyone unfortunate enough to enter her circle.
She wore a black silk gown trimmed at wrist and neck with fine
white lace. The effect was both elegant and daunting. No one looking at her
would ever suspect that she’d been born Louise Pervy, illegitimate daughter of
a tinker and a Tennessee mountain girl. George Linton had been a simple
shopkeeper when she married him. With her pushing him, he’d made a small
fortune supplying the emigrants and miners heading west along the Oregon Trail
and now owned a good portion of St. Louis.
With money behind her, Louise had obliterated all trace of her
dirt-poor beginnings. She’d become more elegant and refined than anyone borne
into money would have needed to be. No one who knew her now would ever have
guessed her hardscrabble background. The fact that Bishop knew exactly where
she’d come from was the one thing she could never forgive.
“Are you threatening me, Bishop?” she asked, as she came farther
into the room. Though he could have snapped her neck without effort, there was
no concern in her eyes. Rather there was a challenge, almost a dare.
“I came to see the children,” Bishop said, ignoring her question.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Either the maid can go get them or I will.” He didn’t raise his
voice but his tone was pure steel.
“You do not give orders in this house.”
“Then you give the order. One way or another, I will see them.”
“Perhaps it would be best if we sent someone up to get them.”
George Linton had entered the room behind his wife. Of medium height and rotund
build, he nevertheless seemed to disappear into her shadow in some way that
Bishop had never completely understood. He gave Bishop an apologetic smile.
“After all, he is their father.”
Louise’s thin features tightened, “Since that is the reason our
daughter is dead, I hardly think the reminder is necessary.”
A tense little silence followed her comment. Bishop knew he was
expected to fill it by offering some defense on his own behalf. He said
nothing, letting the silence stretch until George felt compelled to break it.
“Yes, well, Isabelle’s death was a terrible tragedy, of course.
But Bishop is still the children’s father, my dear.” He cleared his throat and
glanced uneasily from his wife to Bishop and back again. “I’m sure Isabelle
would want everyone to let bygones be bygones.”
“Isabelle was an idiot,” Louise snapped. “If she hadn’t been an
idiot, she would have married someone worthy of our position in society instead
of throwing herself away on this... this shootist. I warned her no good would
come of it but she wouldn’t listen. See where it got her!” There was a certain
bitter satisfaction in her voice at having been proven right, even at the cost
of her only child.
“Now, my dear, you mustn’t upset yourself so. Isabelle has been
gone these past five years now. There's no sense raking over old coals. Mary,
go tell the children that their father is here to see them.”
Mary looked at Louise. It was clear that she knew who ran the
Linton household. Louise hesitated a moment and then flicked one hand in the
direction of the door. “Bring them down.”
The maid hurried out, patently
doubt that Louise Linton had meant exactly what she’d said. He gave the maid a
shallow smile. “Tell the children I’m here and that I want to talk to them.
I’ll deal with Mrs. Linton.”
“Deal with me, Bishop?” Louise Linton’s sharp voice preceded her
into the room. “That sounds very much like a threat.”
Bishop was struck, as always, by the amazing amount of presence
she carried with her. She was a small woman, barely five feet tall, with a
reed-thin body that gave her a delicate, almost birdlike appearance. But if
Louise Linton had been a bird, it would have been a hawk, not only because of
the fierce intelligence in her pale-blue eyes but because of the sheer ruthlessness
with which she dealt with anyone unfortunate enough to enter her circle.
She wore a black silk gown trimmed at wrist and neck with fine
white lace. The effect was both elegant and daunting. No one looking at her
would ever suspect that she’d been born Louise Pervy, illegitimate daughter of
a tinker and a Tennessee mountain girl. George Linton had been a simple
shopkeeper when she married him. With her pushing him, he’d made a small
fortune supplying the emigrants and miners heading west along the Oregon Trail
and now owned a good portion of St. Louis.
With money behind her, Louise had obliterated all trace of her
dirt-poor beginnings. She’d become more elegant and refined than anyone borne
into money would have needed to be. No one who knew her now would ever have
guessed her hardscrabble background. The fact that Bishop knew exactly where
she’d come from was the one thing she could never forgive.
“Are you threatening me, Bishop?” she asked, as she came farther
into the room. Though he could have snapped her neck without effort, there was
no concern in her eyes. Rather there was a challenge, almost a dare.
“I came to see the children,” Bishop said, ignoring her question.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Either the maid can go get them or I will.” He didn’t raise his
voice but his tone was pure steel.
“You do not give orders in this house.”
“Then you give the order. One way or another, I will see them.”
“Perhaps it would be best if we sent someone up to get them.”
George Linton had entered the room behind his wife. Of medium height and rotund
build, he nevertheless seemed to disappear into her shadow in some way that
Bishop had never completely understood. He gave Bishop an apologetic smile.
“After all, he is their father.”
Louise’s thin features tightened, “Since that is the reason our
daughter is dead, I hardly think the reminder is necessary.”
A tense little silence followed her comment. Bishop knew he was
expected to fill it by offering some defense on his own behalf. He said
nothing, letting the silence stretch until George felt compelled to break it.
“Yes, well, Isabelle’s death was a terrible tragedy, of course.
But Bishop is still the children’s father, my dear.” He cleared his throat and
glanced uneasily from his wife to Bishop and back again. “I’m sure Isabelle
would want everyone to let bygones be bygones.”
“Isabelle was an idiot,” Louise snapped. “If she hadn’t been an
idiot, she would have married someone worthy of our position in society instead
of throwing herself away on this... this shootist. I warned her no good would
come of it but she wouldn’t listen. See where it got her!” There was a certain
bitter satisfaction in her voice at having been proven right, even at the cost
of her only child.
“Now, my dear, you mustn’t upset yourself so. Isabelle has been
gone these past five years now. There's no sense raking over old coals. Mary,
go tell the children that their father is here to see them.”
Mary looked at Louise. It was clear that she knew who ran the
Linton household. Louise hesitated a moment and then flicked one hand in the
direction of the door. “Bring them down.”
The maid hurried out, patently
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