Line by Line

by Jennifer Delamere

  “I’m sure we’ll all do what we can to make this a success,” she said.

  “Miss McNeil, I really can’t thank you enough. It may have seemed like a random comment to you, but bits of genius like that are exactly what we need more of in this company.”

  He took her right hand and shook it vigorously. He even looked as though he wanted to kiss her, but Alice hastily assured herself that was definitely not the case—not unless he was beside himself with elation. She felt her heart skittering stupidly just the same.

  “This really means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” she said, finding her voice once he’d released her hand from his wonderfully warm grip.

  He sobered a little. “I’ve come a very long way in my life, Miss McNeil, and so has Mr. Carnegie. You could say he’s been a role model for me. If the son of a dirt-poor Scottish weaver can become a millionaire, then by heaven, so can I. Some may scoff and say, ‘But he lives in America, where opportunity is waiting at every turn for those who seek it.’ And I say, Britain is the greatest shipping nation in the world. I will find my way, too!”

  There was passion and determination in his voice. Underneath his affability and charm was steely ambition. Alice had always considered herself a person of resolve, but her goals had been aimed at building a career that she found personally satisfying, something that would prove she was a person of integrity and worth. It seemed Douglas was focused on gaining wealth and the status that went with it. Although such drive was admirable, Alice wasn’t sure it was entirely healthy for one’s soul.

  She was still mulling that over as she left his office.

  Mavis waved her over excitedly. “What did he say?”

  Alice tried to downplay it with a shrug. “He shared some good news about a potential client.”

  “That can’t be all,” Mavis protested. “Why was he so excited to tell you about it?”

  “Well, I . . . may have made a suggestion that led to it.” Joy burbled up inside her as she said the words.

  Mavis must have noticed the pink tingeing Alice’s cheeks. “You’re a little in love with him, aren’t you?” she challenged, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard by the other men. “I know I am.”

  “Really? I’d never have guessed.”

  Mavis giggled.

  “I admire how talented and hardworking he is,” Alice said, which was true.

  “And handsome, too, don’t forget,” Mavis said with a sigh.

  No, there was no way Alice was going to forget that. However, by now she had plenty of other, more logical reasons to like him. And a few reasons why she ought to use caution—such as her uneasiness about his ambitions. For the moment, she decided not to allow it to dampen the happiness she felt at having played a role in his recent success.

  Hearing the sounder announce an incoming message, Alice had the perfect excuse to end this conversation. She turned away from Mavis’s dreamy smile—which was too much a reflection of how Alice felt on the inside—and went to work.

  That week turned out to be a busy one at Henley and Company. Every day was filled to the brim with a multitude of tasks. The office settled into a new, more energetic version of the routine that had been in place while Douglas had been away—probably because of the many client prospects and resulting projects he’d brought back with him. There had been a convergence of deadlines, too, relating to legal matters and documents to file for customs and shipping.

  Alice didn’t see Douglas outside of work, either. He worked long hours, often shut up in his office or Mr. Henley’s.

  It wasn’t until Wednesday of the following week that there was anything even approaching a lull. The first hour of the morning had been quiet, with few incoming messages. Douglas and Mr. Henley were out of the office, tending to other company-related matters.

  Alice sat reading the issue of Lloyd’s List Douglas had given her. She was becoming more and more absorbed in the shipping news, now that she was familiar with the companies and shipping lines referenced in the articles. She was just finishing an interesting article about the modern uses of bill of lading contracts to improve overseas trade when Archie came in to work.

  After his usual curt nod that sufficed for a greeting, he set about sharpening the six pencils he always kept on his desk. It was one of his rituals. At some point during his first hour at work, he would methodically work through each pencil.

  Sometimes the telegrams came in so quickly that stopping to ink a pen cost precious time. Alice always kept two or three pencils handy. Yet she had never seen any telegrapher approach this as Archie had. He carefully kept exactly six, always in exactly the same configuration in the pencil holder on his desk. It was the one area where he was overly vigilant, in contrast to his slovenly appearance and other work habits.

  Maybe he simply took pleasure in the task. It certainly seemed so.

  This was the perfect time to attempt the idea Alice had dreamed up based on the spinster book. The previous week had simply been too busy, but now she thought it might be worth giving it a go.

  She took out a pencil-sharpening device, a fairly recent invention that Archie never used. He always used a short knife with a sturdy blade. Inserting one of her pencils into the sharpener, she gave it a few turns before murmuring, “Oh, dear.”

  Archie looked up at her.

  She pulled the pencil from the sharpener. “I seem to have broken the tip.”

  “Well, of course you have. Those things never work as well as a properly sharpened penknife.”

  “I’m afraid I never quite got the hang of that.”

  “There is an art to it,” Archie said, launching into this subject with the pride of an expert. “Most people try holding the pencil horizontally while sharpening it, but the better method is to hold it with a downward slant. You should try it sometime. Maybe you wouldn’t wear your pencils down to the nub so quickly.”

  It was his usual sarcastic attitude, but Alice merely nodded thoughtfully. “I think you’re right. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to show me?”

  He looked at her as though trying to gauge the sincerity of her question. Alice gave him that wobbly smile she had used to such good effect with Fred.

  Something in her look and posture must have convinced him she was genuinely interested. He took out his knife and a pencil to demonstrate. “I always hold it at a forty-five-degree angle, like so. It yields a better point.”

  She picked up one of her pencils. “Like this?” She purposefully angled it at a more shallow angle, about thirty degrees.

  “No, not like that.” He reached out and pushed down the tip of the pencil. “Like that.”

  “Ah yes, I see.”

  “The angle of the knife blade is critical, too. Watch.” He demonstrated with the pencil he’d been sharpening. “Have you got a knife?”

  “I’m afraid not. Might I borrow yours, just for a moment, to see if it is something I might be able to do?”

  Once more he paused, and Alice could see he was genuinely undecided about whether to agree to her request. It was probably the first favor Alice had ever asked of him. She knew it would put her in his debt, and a touch of worry crawled up her spine. She could only hope this plan would succeed instead of making matters worse.

  “All right.” He handed the knife to her. “But listen carefully. I don’t want you dulling the blade.”

  He spent the next few minutes explaining the exact way to move her hand so that the blade didn’t shave off too much.

  Alice followed his instructions carefully and did, in fact, end up with a nice point on her pencil. “There.” She set down the pencil and returned the knife to him. “Thank you very much. I shall definitely acquire a proper knife as soon as I can.” Honestly, she could have done the job twice as fast and just as well with the pencil sharpener. In fact, she’d been doing that for the three months she’d been working here. But somehow Archie had never noticed. “Is there a preferred brand?”

  “There are several kinds you can buy.
There’s a shop with a good selection near Charing Cross station on the Strand.”

  He gave her the directions and spent another ten minutes pointing out the features she should look for in a good penknife. As with Fred and his dimple, Alice had apparently hit upon the right way to get on Archie’s good side. She was almost sorry she hadn’t been able to try this sooner.

  “Thank you,” she said again, infusing her words with as much honesty as she could muster.

  He looked pleased, although the look of superiority Alice had anticipated was there as well. “I’m glad to see you are not entirely unwilling to accept good advice.”

  Nevertheless, that was the last caustic remark he sent in her direction. From then on, Archie’s attitude was almost in the neighborhood of friendly.

  Alice smiled to herself for the rest of the day.

  CHAPTER

  Thirteen

  Well, what do you think?”

  Douglas surveyed himself in the mirror while Hal and Carson looked on critically. He was preparing to meet Miss Penelope Rolland tonight, and he wanted to give the best impression. He was wearing a new suit made at a tailor’s shop that Carson had recommended. It was more than he could afford, but he’d decided it was necessary. One had to dress richly in order to get wealthy people to take you seriously. Besides, if a deal with Mr. Carnegie came through, it would lead to opportunities and promotions that would allow him to pay off the suit in record time.

  “I don’t think that cravat is tied correctly,” Hal said.

  “It’s exactly right,” Carson retorted.

  Douglas was inclined to accept Carson’s opinion in these matters, as Hal was a careless dresser. “I think it’s the best we can do.”

  “Just listen to Shaw talking himself down,” Hal said. “As if he weren’t the most handsome gentleman in London. If I had your looks, I’d chat up every lady at that party and wait to catch them when they swooned.”

  “I’m sure that’s exactly what I’ll be doing,” Douglas said with an answering smirk. “But first I’ve got to hunt down a cab to ensure I get there on time.” He gave one last tug to his coat and reached for his hat.

  As he rode in the cab toward the Rollands’ home, Douglas reviewed everything he could think of in preparation for tonight’s events. Mr. Henley would introduce him to Miss Rolland and her father, and then—

  And then?

  Douglas’s collar suddenly felt too tight. If there was one minor chink in the armor of confidence he’d built up over the years, it was that he still felt nervous when interacting socially with people in the upper classes.

  He’d overcome much of his rudimentary schooling through personal effort and reading. However, books were of no real help to him in society drawing rooms. Not even etiquette books. They could not instill the ease at such events that those born into money seemed to have innately. When Douglas was negotiating business deals, he’d discovered men could overlook the occasional faux pas. But well-bred ladies had a higher standard. They might not be swooning in his arms, as Hal had joked, but they would expect him to flawlessly know the right words to say and actions to take.

  He reminded himself that he’d successfully navigated a number of parties and dinners during his American trip without any embarrassing mistakes. However, none of those had been at the same social level as he was approaching tonight. In any case, he thought it likely the Americans were more forgiving. Moving among the English upper classes was going to be more difficult. They had rules of their own—most of them unwritten. He would need all his powers of observation to catch important cues.

  He alighted from the cab and paid the driver, then walked up the steps of the elegant townhome. Taking a deep breath, he rapped on the door.

  “What do you think, Miss T?” Alice asked. Since the cat had just jumped up on the table, scattering a stack of letters and nearly tipping over the inkpot, Alice assumed the creature wanted to give her opinion.

  Quite naturally, now that she had Alice’s attention, the cat was content merely to sit on one of the envelopes and begin washing a paw.

  Alice gently dislodged the letter from underneath Miss T. It was the note she’d received from her sister, Annie, urging her to come home for a visit in a few weeks’ time. Their parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary was coming up, and her siblings were planning a big celebration.

  Alice smiled. Miss T might well want to hide that note, as she didn’t like it when her mistress was away and she had to remain entirely out of doors. Not that the cat wasn’t well fed during that time; Alice’s neighbor Mr. Sacker, a retired fish merchant, always came up with tasty scraps for her. However, given that Miss T was proportionately as advanced in years as her namesake, she loved the comfort of sleeping on Alice’s sofa.

  “You are a prissy thing, aren’t you?” Alice teased, stroking her cat’s thick, soft fur. “Even so, I shall have to go.” She sighed. “More’s the pity.”

  She would have preferred to stay in town. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her family. She was heartily thankful to have grown up in such a loving—if somewhat disorganized—home. The problem was, now that her sister had made a happy marriage, the hints from her mother that Alice might do the same were growing more frequent and bothersome. Alice had hoped her mother’s worries on that subject would dissipate once Annie was settled and had a good husband to provide for her. With two of her brothers and her sister now married, there were three solid households that could support her parents and provide any help they needed as they grew older. Instead, her mother had grown more fretful on the subject.

  Alice might have been able to wave away the hints like a pesky housefly, were it not for the fact that her mother had begun to sway her father’s opinion as well. That was very hard to bear. After all, he had taught her Morse code and had been proud to see her become an accomplished telegrapher in her own right. He’d encouraged her independent nature and been stalwart in supporting her decision to strike out on her own. The joke in their family circle was that after becoming father to three boys, he hadn’t noticed the fourth child was a girl and had treated her just the same as the others. It wasn’t until Annie had come along and grown into a proper, ribbons-and-lace sort of young lady that anyone else thought Alice ought to do the same.

  Letting out another sigh, Alice absently scratched Miss T behind the ears. The cat rewarded this behavior by emitting a smooth purr, which vibrated against Alice’s hand, causing her to smile. “You like our current setup just fine, don’t you, my dear?”

  Miss T bumped Alice’s hand with her chin, encouraging her to keep going, but Alice gave the cat a final pat and rose from the table.

  “You’ve reminded me that I ought to get this letter to your namesake down to the postbox.”

  Now retired from running her school, Miss Templeton resided in a small seaside village in Sussex. Alice wrote to her at least twice a month, sharing news about her work and other activities. There had been a lot to talk about in this letter! Alice was excited to report how well Henley and Company was doing and about her share in it. She’d even mentioned Mr. Shaw’s return from abroad and how he’d been impressed with Alice and encouraged her to take on a larger role in the company. She knew Miss Templeton would be proud to receive that news.

  Alice always looked forward to Miss Templeton’s replies. While never long, her letters were usually filled with mildly acerbic anecdotes about the “old people” in her village, as though Miss Templeton were not to be counted among those elderly folk but was merely an observer, still a woman in her prime.

  “Now, where did that letter get to?” Alice picked up the papers Miss T had so carelessly sent to the floor. “Ah, there it is.”

  She pulled the envelope from the stack and set it next to her reticule, which lay on a chair near the door. The rest of the papers went back on the table, which Miss T had now vacated. Sensing Alice was about to go out, the cat had jumped to the floor and watched as Alice donned her hat.

  They went outside togeth
er. Miss T went off in search of creatures to stalk or other adventures. Alice set off down the street, knowing the cat would either let herself back in through the window or be waiting for her by the door when she got home.

  At the street corner, Alice dropped the letter into the tall red postbox. As she did, it occurred to her that she hadn’t heard from Miss Templeton in nearly a month. This wasn’t so unusual, as her letters had been sporadic at times. Whenever that happened, Miss Templeton generally explained the lapse by saying she’d been busy with household matters or helping others in the town. She would never admit to being ill or otherwise indisposed. Alice felt a little worried. She prayed her old teacher was doing well.

  The lamplighters were out, but the evening held a touch of pleasant coolness after a day of rain, and Alice didn’t feel like going home just yet. She walked along the familiar street. Realizing her feet were taking her to the bookshop, she found herself thinking of Douglas Shaw. What was he doing this evening? Then she chided herself. Why should it matter where he was? What he did on his own time was his business.

  Mr. Meyer was watching over the shop tonight. Upon seeing Alice, he said, “There’s our best customer!”

  “How is Nellie?” Alice asked after they had exchanged further greetings.

  “Oh, very fine, very fine. She thought she might like some extra rest tonight. She gets tired so easily now, what with the baby on the way.” Mr. Meyer took off his glasses and rubbed them on his shirt. His eyes were misty. “It will be my first grandson, don’t you know.”

  “Grandson?” Alice repeated, pointedly emphasizing the last syllable.

  “Ah well, a man can dream,” Mr. Meyer replied with a wink. “Nothing wrong with a little girl, of course. We’ll love having one of those, too. Perhaps for the next one.” He put his glasses back on his face, beaming at the idea of being a grandfather.

  Alice understood the thinking behind his words. First have a son, someone to carry on the family name. There was nothing wrong with having a girl, once the important goal of getting a son and heir was taken care of. She supposed she couldn’t blame him, as men of his age generally held old-fashioned notions about such things. Even so, she felt a touch of indignation.