Line by Line

by Jennifer Delamere

  “No place is as good as England.”

  Lucy made a little tsking sound. “Now, Fred, Alice asked you a sincere question. Tell us where you’ll be going.”

  He managed to look abashed at his sister’s chastisement and set about answering Alice’s question in a more cheerful manner. “We’ll be sailing first to Gibraltar and then to Malta. We’re taking a variety of goods to those places. Then it’s on to India by way of the Suez Canal, where we’ll be loading up on silk, tea, and indigo.”

  “That sounds fascinating,” Alice said in all honesty. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to travel like that!”

  He seemed pleased by her reaction, although he downplayed her admiration with a little shrug. “I doubt you’d like the accommodations, though.”

  Was that an attempt at a joke? If so, maybe his gruff exterior could be breached after all. Always up for a challenge, Alice was now determined to get on this man’s good side.

  “It’s a good living, too, isn’t it, Fred?” Lucy piped up.

  “Yes, we get a share of the profits. Not as high as them fancy gentlemen in the counting houses, of course, even though we do the real work.” He finished off his last bite of fish, then sat back with a smile.

  The footman removed his plate. Fred picked up his napkin and touched it to his lips. Alice could see he was trying to look cultured, but the effect was more like he was afraid his face might break if he pressed it too hard.

  For some reason, the movement drew Alice’s attention to his chin. As he set the napkin back in his lap, Alice noticed something she hadn’t paid much attention to before. He had a dimple on his right cheek that became quite pronounced when he smiled. Perhaps she noticed it now because he’d had his hair and beard cut short in preparation for the voyage. Or because she hadn’t seen him smile very often.

  Or perhaps she was paying attention to it now because she had seen a mention of dimples in the spinster book. It was an amusing anecdote, highlighting the vanity resident in all men. If Alice said something about his dimple, would Fred fall prey to the same foible that had been described in the book? She had an irresistible urge to find out. The very idea of testing this theory made her smile.

  Fred frowned at her. “Did I do something funny?”

  Drat. She had let her amusement show. She didn’t want Fred to think she was laughing at him. “I beg your pardon. I was simply smiling in surprise.”

  His wariness didn’t lessen. “Surprise about what?”

  “You have a dimple in your cheek.”

  “I do? Where?” He placed a hand precisely where the dimple was located, even though Alice had not specified which cheek.

  She tried to quell a laugh. It was true!

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have cut the beard so close,” he grumbled.

  “Quite the contrary. It’s good that it’s more evident now. The dimple makes you look . . . er, very handsome.”

  “Do you really think so?” He looked suspicious.

  “Well, of course she does, Fred!” Lucy said.

  But coming from his sister, this remark had no impact whatsoever. Still fingering his dimple, Fred seemed baffled as to how to react.

  “Alice, it’s astonishing that you never noticed this until now,” Lucy added.

  “I suppose we all change over time,” Alice said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Fred? For example, don’t you think it might be foolish to hold on to quibbles we had when we were children?”

  “To attract a man, offer up a smile that is half-tremulous, half-trusting. It’s a look he will find nearly impossible to resist.”

  This was a line from the book that Alice had found incredibly silly. However, now that she’d begun this little experiment, she would carry on. She offered Fred a smile that she supposed was half-tremulous, half-trusting, and hoped it didn’t look as strange and wobbly as it felt.

  Fred was staring fixedly at her. Alice knew he must be thinking back to that incident so long ago and comparing it to the way she was talking to him now. In one sense, it pained her to be the one to make this overture. It felt like giving in, because she still believed she’d been in the right.

  “Blessed are the peacemakers.” That advice came from a much more trustworthy book. Alice could at least take comfort in that.

  “Do you really think the dimple makes me look handsome?” The furrow in Fred’s forehead began to soften.

  Alice gave him the wobbly smile again, and Fred beamed.

  If he presses for an apology, this whole experiment will be ruined, Alice thought. That was the one thing she would not do. Nothing was worth giving up one’s integrity.

  “Reconciled at last!” Lucy exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Old friendships forge a new path.”

  A flurry of unease skittered across Alice’s stomach. She had been focused on the experiment. She hadn’t stopped to consider that Lucy might want to give the results greater significance than they merited.

  Lucy touched a hand to the base of her neck and gave the area a little pat as she sent Alice a smile. Alice frowned. Lucy was trying to relay a message of some kind.

  The scarf. That was it. It must be something to do with her scarf. Was it slipping? Had she accidentally dropped food on it? Alice reached up to check it. Everything seemed to be in order, though.

  Lucy said, “Fred you haven’t said a word about how nice Alice looks tonight.”

  For a moment he appeared to be at a loss, but the motion of Alice’s hands led his eyes to her scarf. “That . . . erm . . . that scarf looks . . . er, very becoming.”

  Lucy had set up their actions—and reactions—as expertly as a puppet master. Alice felt her cheeks turning pink, but it wasn’t a blush of pleasure.

  A look of uncertainty entered Fred’s eyes. Was he worried she wouldn’t accept his compliment?

  Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. Was there anything else in that spinster book she could use? She couldn’t dredge up anything else from her memory, so she fell back on the wobbly smile. “How kind of you to say so.”

  Fred turned his attention to the next course being set down, and Alice breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Fred, tell Alice about your prospects for this voyage,” Lucy chirped. “And about your promotion.”

  He didn’t need further prompting. He puffed out his chest in obvious pride. “I’m the chief cargo officer now. In charge of gettin’ the goods on and off the ship. It’s a very important job, as you can imagine. Especially for the unloading, keeping track of every crate and barrel. We have at least fifty kinds of items in those crates, and it’s important to ensure that nothing goes missing.”

  That was all it took to get him talking. Alice hoped it was enough to take his mind off the romantic moment Lucy had been trying to conjure between them.

  By the end of the evening, Alice was fairly certain she and Fred were now on good terms, even though she found him carefully scrutinizing her from time to time. She couldn’t tell what that signified. Perhaps it was just his way of getting used to this new friendliness between them.

  Nor was she overly worried when he offered to escort her home at the end of the evening. She kindly but firmly refused. She’d traveled home from Lucy’s house by herself countless times, although Lucy always insisted she take her carriage.

  What did alarm Alice, however, was that Fred placed a warm kiss on her cheek before she left. “That’s for until I see you again. Six weeks isn’t such a long time, you know. I’ll look for some interesting trinket for you while I’m in Bombay.”

  Alice swallowed, unwilling to believe the glint she saw in his eye. Nor did she like the assumptions she detected behind Lucy’s broad smile. Her friend was so radiant that she might have lit up an entire street.

  Alice shook Fred’s hand fervently, in a friendly, almost mannish gesture, to emphasize that they were simply friends. She hoped this was merely a precaution and that, despite his words, she would be out of his thoughts before his ship reached Gravesend.

  Even
with this potential danger, there was a kind of elation in Alice’s heart as she rode home. Those tricks from the spinster’s guide actually worked! A book with such a ridiculous premise did, in fact, contain useful information. Perhaps it was worth reading more, just to see what other gems it might contain.

  “That’s rather astounding, isn’t it?” Emma said the next day, staring at Alice with amazement as she shared the story of what had happened at Lucy’s party. Alice, Emma, and Rose were enjoying tea together, as they often did on Sunday afternoons since Alice had moved out of the boardinghouse.

  “Astounding that a book could impart such hitherto unrevealed truths?” Rose scoffed. She held out a hand. “Let me see it. I daresay it doesn’t contain anything I haven’t known for ages.”

  “I daresay it doesn’t,” Alice agreed with a smile. She handed the book to Rose. She was still marveling over what had happened last night with Fred, and she decided to get their opinion, as it was not something she could discuss with Lucy. Lucy would interpret Fred’s easy capitulation to a little flattery as evidence that he and Alice were destined for each other after all. She would insist that the book had merely helped Alice uncover the true love that had been right under her nose this whole time. Alice knew neither of those things were true. She was very sure she did not love Fred. But could his sudden change of demeanor be attributed wholly to Alice’s cynical application of the book’s suggestions?

  “In some ways, I feel as though I played a joke on Fred and he didn’t even realize it. I only hope there won’t be any negative repercussions. What do you think?” Alice aimed the question at Rose, who was far and away the most knowledgeable of the three women in these matters.

  Rose looked up from the book. “I think you were merely flirting.” She grinned at Alice. “After all this time, you’ve finally learned how to do it.”

  “It’s not a skill I ever aspired to develop, I assure you.”

  “Nevertheless, it can serve you well in certain circumstances, as you’ve seen. You said this greatly reduced the animosity Fred showed toward you. That’s a benefit, right?”

  “I hope so. I’m just worried about the possible cost.”

  Rose shrugged. “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. Fred is a sailor. Plenty of women must have flirted with him at various ports of call. They would have other reasons for it, of course.” She rubbed two fingers together to indicate money. Then, after a sidelong look at Emma, who was staring at her wide-eyed, Rose evidently decided to change tack. “Well, there are all sorts of reasons. I say merely that this can’t be a new concept for him. He was simply reacting to your compliments with appreciation. That’s a function of male pride, which is built right into them.”

  “That’s what the book says, too,” Alice said.

  Rose flipped through a few more pages. “It’s clear the author has a great deal of knowledge on the topic. Judging from the subtly negative remarks she has sprinkled among the protestations of how wonderful it is to be in love, I’d say she gained some of that knowledge the hard way. I might have written this book myself, after . . .”

  Her voice trailed off. She must have been thinking of the way she’d been so ill-used by the man she’d thought had truly loved her.

  “After what, Rose?” Emma prompted. She’d often asked for details about Rose’s life before she came to London, but Rose had remained close-lipped.

  Rose snapped the book shut and tossed it on the table. “Never you mind.”

  Emma immediately snatched it up and opened it. “I should like to read it. After all, if it does describe how to secure a man’s affections, I definitely want to learn more.”

  “And I should think we all have better things to concern ourselves with,” Alice retorted. She began to wish she hadn’t brought up the subject. She didn’t want to encourage Emma’s foolish notions of romance. “Emma, I feel quite sure that if you marry someday, it will be because you are lovely and kind and a genuinely good person, not because you had to resort to underhanded tactics.”

  “Not if I marry, but when,” Emma murmured, her eyes scanning the pages. She began to read aloud. “‘Love is the bread and the wine of life, the hunger and the thirst, the hurt and the healing, the only wound which is cured by another.’” Her voice got more and more dramatic as she read, swept away with the sentiment. “‘It is the guest who comes like a thief in the night, the eternal question that is its own answer, the thing that has no beginning and no end. The very blindness of it is divine, for it sees no imperfections, takes no heed of faults, and concerns itself only with the hidden beauty of the soul.’”

  When she was done, she gave a deep, dreamy sigh.

  Alice was dismayed to realize that by bringing this book today, she’d given Emma an excuse to add more rooms to her castle in the air.

  “That paragraph is nothing but overwrought nonsense.” Rose tapped a finger on the page to get Emma’s attention. “But this book does contain good information about how to manipulate men by appealing to their baser instincts. Alice, I believe you were on the right track when you asked whether this might be helpful for you at work.” A devious smile lightened her expression. “You should try it on that horrible man you told us about—the one you said is the bane of your existence.”

  Alice looked at her, aghast. “You want me to flirt with Archie Clapper?”

  “Let’s not call it flirting. It’s more like using certain strategies to get Mr. Clapper to change his attitude toward you. You’ve described your encounters with him. I know you are relentlessly honest and straightforward in your dealings with everyone. That’s laudable, but it isn’t always an advantage.” Rose tugged on the book, and reluctantly Emma relinquished it. She flipped through the pages to locate a passage. “Take this example. It’s too long to read, so I’ll sum it up. It’s about a young widow who knows perfectly well how to send a telegram, yet she suddenly forgets everything she knows while in the telegraph office.”

  Emma looked confused. “Why would she do that?”

  “Because then she must ask for help from the promising gentleman standing nearby. He will immediately feel warmer toward her because she has fanned the flames of his masculine pride. He, of course, knows how to do everything the correct way, so he can deign to show her. The next thing you know, they have struck up a splendid friendship.”

  “Or maybe more!” Emma said rapturously.

  “Let’s just leave it at friendship for now,” Rose answered, looking simultaneously amused and exasperated by Emma’s one-track mind. “Alice, I think you should try something like that with Mr. Clapper.”

  “Why should I do anything to make him feel superior to me?” Alice objected. “That’s the very last thing I want. I’ve fought hard these past three months to make him see that I am every bit as capable as he is.”

  “Here’s what I think will happen. You ask him to show you how to do something, then praise him wildly when he does it. He will therefore want to do more of the same. If you play this right, he could end up doing more of his own work without realizing it instead of finding ways to lay it on you. He might even stop getting his chums to send messages at lightning speed just to trip you up.”

  Alice didn’t feel convinced. “The truth is, I relish being able to show that I can handle whatever he throws at me.”

  Rose grinned. “I have no doubt about that. I’m not saying you should try to diminish anything relating to your skills as a telegraph operator. But there must be other areas where you might be able to apply this tactic.”

  “I’d have to think about it,” Alice said doubtfully.

  “You said yourself that you felt you had played a joke on Fred and he didn’t even realize it. What if you did the same to Mr. Clapper? How delicious would that be? He might feel superior, but you would know that you are superior.”

  It was a tempting prospect. Maybe there was some truth to what Rose was saying. “Perhaps I will give it a try. It would be nice to have a more civil work environment.”

&nbs
p; Rose leaned back in her chair, raising her hands in a gesture of satisfaction. “I rest my case.”

  CHAPTER

  Eleven

  It was a fine day to be in Hyde Park. Douglas always enjoyed coming here. The gentlemen and ladies on horseback or in fine carriages presented a picture of what his life could be—and would be, if his successes continued to mount. Today, thanks to Alice’s comment, he was here with an extra purpose in mind. He was watching to see if Andrew Carnegie’s four-in-hand—a large coach pulled by four horses—would come by.

  If so, he was determined to find some way to make an acquaintance with the businessman. On Sundays like this when the weather was good, people were rarely in a hurry. They would pause and chat with one another from their open carriages. All Douglas had to do was find a way to approach Carnegie and strike up a conversation, and surely the rest would take care of itself. They were fellow Scotsmen, after all, and both had worked their way up from poverty. Carnegie was further along on that road than Douglas, having earned his riches through steel manufacturing and railroads. But they had both begun their careers in a telegraph office. All these things could surely open the doors for Carnegie to consider the idea of a deal with Henley and Company. At the very least, it could yield other valuable contacts. And so, while strolling through the park with Carson and Hal, Douglas had been on the lookout for Mr. Carnegie’s coach.

  They had been in the park for perhaps an hour when Douglas spotted the carriage he was looking for. He recognized Carnegie, who was driving, because he had seen him at a distance at that New York party. The plump, elderly woman seated next to him had to be his mother, and the friends he’d brought were in the coach as well.

  “There he is!” Douglas said excitedly.

  “Who?” Hal said.

  “Andrew Carnegie, the steel magnate from America.”

  “How can you be sure?” Carson asked.

  “I read in the paper that he is touring England with his mother and some friends. They are leaving for Windsor tomorrow and then traveling up the country all the way to Scotland.”