The Devereaux Jewel Copyright Š 2017 Joy Ross Davis
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Windswept an imprint of BHC Press Library of Congress Control Number: 2017945249 ISBN-13: 978-1-946848-55-0 Visit the publisher at: www.bhcpress.com Also available in ebook
also by joy ross davis Emalyn’s Treasure Beggar’s Miracle Countenance Mother, Can You Hear Me? Quinlan’s Hope
one
September 1, 1882 Highland Rim, Tennessee Dearest Aunt Violet, I am Anna, newly married for these six months to your nephew, Henry Devereaux, who in his most kind and gentle manner, suggested that I might write to you concerning certain household responsibilities of which I have little knowledge, being turned seventeen only two weeks ago. Henry would have written himself; however, at present, he is away with his business partners. His ventures with the railway system have proven beneficial. As a wedding gift, he presented me with the most beautiful gold necklace, stationed with pearls, rubies, sapphires, and a large emerald in the center. He calls it the Devereaux Jewel and tells me that it is a family heirloom and must be protected at all costs. I can assure you that I will guard it faithfully. ~ 9 ~
~ joy ross davis ~
In his generosity, Henry has built quite a large home here in Highland Rim, on the Cumberland Plateau, of more than twenty rooms. He has furnished it lavishly and with such acumen that I marvel at his exquisite taste. On the far grounds, he has planted hundreds of apple, pear, fig, and plum trees for future harvest and business opportunities. He proves over and over what a brilliant man he is. Again, it is at Henry’s suggestion that I write to you and ask for your help and guidance while he is away. You are his favorite aunt, and I understand that he is, as well, your favorite nephew. Please consider this letter a formal invitation to join me in Highland Rim. Having been raised in an orphanage, I fear that I lack the necessary skills to maintain this glorious home and to allow boarders to take rooms, as Henry has encouraged me to do. After all, he says, what could we possibly need with ten bedrooms? It is my deepest hope that you will consider a lengthy Yuletide visit. Henry has named our home the Devereaux Estate since we have one hundred acres of property. And though the rim itself, Henry explained, is but a series of steep cliffs, he situated the house at such a distance away that the cliffs are no threat to safety. Having never learned the fine arts of decorating, cookery and gardening, at which I understand you are quite skilled, I would be forever beholding to you should you agree to travel by railway from your home in Knoxville to ours in Highland Rim and to reside with me for as long as you wish. Most respectfully, Anna (Mrs. Henry W.) Devereaux
~ 10 ~
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Post script: It is not that I am afraid, you see. Henry has clarified that the noises in the home at night are a result of the settling of the foundation and that it is only my youthful imagination that causes me to see and hear strange people conversing—sometimes arguing—on the back veranda. My Henry is a man of age and wisdom, experienced in all manner of the daily goings-on in a large house such as this one. He has expertly explained my frequent dalliances into the vivid and frightening world of my imagination. Still, your company would perhaps help to disincline me from such folly.
~ 11 ~
two
V
iolet Devereaux, unmarried aunt of Henry, waited on the platform of the Southern Railway Station in Sewanee, her blue silk handbag—perfectly matched from the same fabric as her dress—clutched tightly against her. She scanned the surrounding area for any sign of the niece she had never met, Anna, who had arranged to wear dark purple as a way of recognition. She reminded herself that the girl was only seventeen and had been raised in an orphanage. Poor dear. Not to worry. Your Aunt Violet is here now. An earlier letter from Henry explained that he had met Anna during a business convention when hopefuls from the orphanage were paraded in front of the businessmen as prospective employees. As he recounted, Henry had taken one look at Anna, her long blonde hair tied with a blue ribbon at the back of her neck, the rest of it cascading down her back to her tiny waist, and felt a deep longing to have her at his side. Her bright green eyes had fixed on him and sparkled as she smiled and then lowered her head, her elegantly-fingered hands clasped in front of her. It was this one gesture that had urged Henry forward, to the utter horror of his business acquaintances. They watched in shock as Henry took the young ~ 12 ~
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girl immediately away from the crowd of onlookers and offered her an honorable place in his home as his wife. It mattered not to Henry what any of them thought. He, perhaps, had not anticipated that one of his partners would withdraw from their business agreement, throw down the signed papers, and storm from the room, but then, there would always be other partners. Neither had it concerned him when the headmistress of the orphanage accosted him with her urgent plea: “Oh, no sir, not this one. She spends her work time with our Bishop, frivolously practicing handwriting and learning to read books. She’ll be of no use around a fine home. I implore you to choose another. She has no skills.” Henry simply smiled and brushed past her. “But Sir,” the headmistress said, “you don’t understand. She’s given to mad ramblings and claims to see spirits. She is mentally unsuited as a wife.” Henry stared down at her for a moment. “We’ll puzzle that out if it presents itself,” he said. In his letter, Henry had written: ‘I could not resist her innocence, her need, and her beauty,’ he had said, ‘and though I knew in my mind that she was of lower birth, I felt in my heart that she was royalty. I married her that day in front of a rather reluctant Justice, and from the first moment, I knew that I would forever serve as her devoted husband and guardian.’ Violet shifted in place and adjusted her hat, and when she looked up again, she saw a young woman who was, as Henry had described, delicately beautiful, her creamy skin and large green eyes enhanced by the color of her purple gown. Her blonde hair, secured only with a purple ribbon at the back of her neck, fell to her waist in lovely waves. She wore no hat, carried no purse, and seemed unaware that the hem of her dress was coated in a thick layer of mud. The young woman raised her arm and yelled. ~ 13 ~
~ joy ross davis ~
“Aunt Violet? Yuletide greetings, Aunt Violet!” Violet waved back and hurried down the steps to embrace her niece. “Anna, my dear, how good to meet you,” she said. A single tear rolled down Anna’s cheek. “Whatever is wrong, my dear?” Violet asked. “You look frightened.” Anna shook her head. “Tell me what’s wrong, please,” Violet said. “I’m just,” she sniffed, “just so very glad you came and so happy to have you with me.” Violet put an arm around her shoulder and led the girl down the steps. “Shush now, my sweet,” she said. “Everything will be all right.” “The driver is waiting with the hansom cab. He’ll take us back to the house. There he is,” Anna yelled and began waving. “Over here, Jackson.” “Anna, dear, in public, a quieter tone is more acceptable for a young lady or perhaps simply a wave of the hand.” Anna cocked her head. “I’m not supposed to yell, then?” Violet shook her head. “You can always deliver your message effectively without raising your voice, dear.” “Thank you,” Anna said. “I didn’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t be screaming at them, then.” “Them?” “The…the ghosts,” Anna said barely above a whisper. Before Violet could say anything, a cab pulled up beside them. With the brim of his top hat concealing most of his face, the driver maneuvered the horse-drawn cab, then with slow, exaggerated movements, secured the cab and swung down, shifting, it seemed, to steady himself with a hand on the side of the cab. He seemed to Violet a bit unaccustomed to such duties. Removing his top hat, the man bowed slightly, then straightened. ~ 14 ~
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For a moment, Violet could not speak or move. She could only stare up at him. His vivid blue eyes complimented one of the most handsome faces she’d ever seen. A strand of his thick dark hair fell across his forehead. He towered over her, his broad shoulders making him seem almost a giant, yet when he stepped forward and extended a hand, her heart felt as if it had flopped over. “Miss Violet, I trust,” he said, his hand still held out to her. Mercy, get a hold of yourself, Violet! She straightened her shoulders, extended a hand. “Yes,” she said. “I’m Violet Devereaux, Henry’s aunt.” “Henry’s lovely aunt,” he corrected. “I’m Jackson Grace. A pleasure to meet you.” Oh, he’s a charmer. “We’ve only a short way to go,” Anna said as she climbed into the cab. “Shall we?” Jackson asked and took Violet’s arm. “Thank you.” Jackson tipped his hat and climbed back into his seat atop the hansom. Anna reached over and took Violet’s hand. “I’m so happy to have you with me,” she said. “Perhaps now they will go away.” Violet narrowed her eyes. “Who, my dear? Who will go away?” “The visitors,” Anna said and shivered. “I didn’t realize you had others visiting. Henry didn’t mention it in his letter, but never you mind. I will help you arrange for their departure if they’re bothering you.” Violet adjusted her hat. “We’ll not have any sort of inconveniences by guests, not while I’m here. I’ll speak to Henry about it, as well.” “Oh, no, you mustn’t, Aunt Violet. You mustn’t mention it to Henry. No, please.” ~ 15 ~
~ joy ross davis ~
Tears streamed down Anna’s face. “Please, don’t tell Henry.” Violet took both of Anna’s hands in hers. “It’s all right, my dear,” she said. “I’m here to help. I shan’t do anything that you don’t want me to.” Anna wiped her tears and offered a thin smile. “You must promise not to tell Henry.” Violet leaned forward. “And why, dear? Why would you not want to tell your husband? He is a good man, a gentle man. He would understand. You needn’t be afraid to tell him anything.” “No,” Anna said. “We can’t tell him.” Anna lowered her head. “The headmistress warned him, told him I was mad. If I tell him what’s been happening, he will know that she was right. He’d send me away, back to that terrible place. He would think I’m insane.” Her hands clasped together, Violet sat and twirled her thumbs.
~ 16 ~
About the Author Joy Ross Davis is of Irish descent and a student of the lore and magic found in the hills of Tennessee. After a twenty-five year career as a college English professor, she traveled to Ireland and worked as a writer and photographer, publishing numerous travel articles and photos for an Irish travel agency. She has been a contributing feature writer for a local newspaper and has published articles in Southern literary magazines. She lives in Alabama with her son and beloved dogs. She loves to speak at conferences, book club meetings, and events to share her connection with angels and the stories behind her books. Visit her at:
www.joyrossdavis.com & www.bhcpress.com