Line by Line

by Jennifer Delamere

  “But, Miss Templeton!” Alice burst out in shocked surprise.

  “Yes?”

  Alice couldn’t even formulate the question she wanted so desperately to ask. She was perched on the edge of her chair, her entire being thrumming with the desire to understand. To discover that perhaps she hadn’t been such a terrible failure after all.

  The older woman nodded, as though hearing the unvoiced question. “It would take a special sort of man, of course. They’re not so easy to find. However, you must ask yourself a very important question: Do you truly want a husband and children, or does family life suddenly appear safe after these reversals have left your future uncertain?” She held up a hand. “Don’t answer right away. Take some time to ponder it.”

  Alice sat back, dazed, trying to assimilate everything she’d just heard.

  Miss Templeton resettled herself in her chair, carefully redraping the blanket covering her lap. She gave Alice a fond smile. “I must admit to feeling slightly envious of you, Miss McNeil.”

  “Of me? I never thought I’d hear you say that. Especially not now.”

  “Well, if I didn’t raise up young ladies worthy of emulation, what kind of educator would I be?” She extended her teacup toward Alice. “Would you be so kind?”

  Alice complied, still marveling over Miss Templeton’s words. “Why are you envious of me?”

  “You are young. When it comes to marriage and family, you still have that choice to make. I made my decision, and I can’t say I regret it. I’ve been able to live my life on my own terms. And as for children, well, I’ve had hundreds of them! I ran that school for thirty-three years.” She paused, evidently thinking back on those years with satisfaction. Then her lips quirked. “Granted, I cared for some girls more than others, so perhaps that’s not the best analogy to motherhood. A mother will love you unconditionally. And yet, a schoolmistress will be more clear-eyed about your faults—and about your abilities. I was deeply concerned that every young lady in my charge should make the most of her gifts and find her place in the world. That’s why the best mothers sent their girls to me.” She said this with a proud lift of her head that was the epitome of the woman Alice remembered so well. “However . . .” Her smile turned wistful. “There are times when I wonder what might have happened if I’d made a different choice.”

  To Alice, this was a stunning admission. She couldn’t conceive of Miss Templeton living her life any differently than she had.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have very many choices at this point,” Alice said glumly. “My telegraphic career is over, and . . .”

  She couldn’t even finish the sentence. She dropped her head and sighed deeply.

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t completely write off that Mr. Shaw,” Miss Templeton said. “After all, he might surprise you.”

  Alice looked up, startled. Those were the same words Annie had used regarding their mother.

  “Mind you, I’m not saying you should wait around, pining,” Miss Templeton said sternly. “Don’t waste a minute of your life when you could be doing something productive.”

  Still a little numb, Alice could only nod.

  “Ah, I hear Grace coming back from her jaunt to the bakery,” Miss Templeton said cheerfully. “We shall have a proper tea now, eh?”

  Alice just managed to catch the 7:00 p.m. train back to London. She had plenty to think about on the journey home. There was so much she’d misunderstood about her life and so many new things to consider.

  Above all, she mulled over the question Miss Templeton had put to her: Was her desire for hearth and home merely a temporary urge that stemmed from her current fears that she might not be able to continue supporting herself? It was an important question. She spent time on it, plumbing the depths of her heart.

  No, that wasn’t it. Something else had been stirring in her soul ever since she’d heard her father’s words at their anniversary celebration.

  “You have been my best life’s work,” her father had said.

  Family was not to be undervalued. Providing a loving home for children to be nurtured. Raising up a new generation with a loving husband. She smiled as she recalled Miss Templeton’s words: “Where else would each new crop of bright young women come from?”

  This was what Alice wanted. Unfortunately, it was also true that finding the right sort of man would not be easy. Alice couldn’t picture anyone except Douglas in the role. Even though he had disappointed her. Despite all that had happened, she still believed he had a core of integrity deep in his soul, even if it had been submerged by his plans for worldly advancement.

  Miss Templeton had been right: Alice did hope Douglas loved her, and she’d sought proof that it was so. Proof that he could be the kind of man who would put love and honor above money and security. A man to whom she could safely entrust her heart and her hard-earned independence. That was why she’d challenged him.

  If Douglas was not the man for her, perhaps one day there would be another. In the meantime, she would continue to pursue her own path. She must make plans for her life in the here and now.

  “Brethren . . . this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before.”

  That admonition from Scripture came to mind, and she realized it spoke clearly to her today. It was inspiring, but humbling, too. She had begun to feel as though every door was closed to her. Now she was ready to test the notion that it simply meant new ways were opening up. That something very different was on the horizon.

  She might not know exactly where she was going, but she had to believe the right path was out there and that she would find it.

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-One

  Douglas walked into the post office and went immediately to the counter where the telegram request forms were located. He picked up a pencil and began to fill out a form. It took almost no time to complete it. After two hours of walking around the park, he had decided exactly how it should be worded.

  Only after he’d begun advancing toward the customer service counter did he notice the clerk was a woman. In this situation, he would have definitely preferred a man. It would be embarrassing to show the contents of this message to another woman. His first inclination was to leave and find a different post office, but the clerk had already seen him coming and was looking at him expectantly.

  “May I help you, sir?” she said.

  He had no choice but to approach her. “I would like to send a telegram, please.”

  She must have thought his hesitation was due to a lack of experience at sending telegrams. “It’s a simple matter. I’ll be glad to assist you. The rates are by the word, based on the destination. I see you’ve already located a form.”

  “Yes. I’ve filled it out. It’s going to a London address.” Reluctantly, he extended the paper toward her.

  As she reached out to receive it, Douglas noticed there was a mourning ring on her hand. It was a very fine one, its tiny pearls and diamond contrasting with a black and gold band. He was surprised and saddened to see it, as she could not have been much older than he was.

  She ran a finger over the top of the form, checking that the information for the sender and receiver had been properly filled out. Her eyes widened. Then she blinked and looked up at him.

  “Is something wrong?” Douglas asked. “I believe I entered everything correctly.” He knew these forms inside and out, although he supposed it was possible that in his distraction he had missed a detail.

  She was still staring at him, her mouth slightly agape. He began to wonder whether he’d sprouted a third ear or something. He looked down at the form and then back up at her, hoping the gesture would spur a response.

  She closed her mouth. “It’s just that, erm . . .”

  “Yes?” he prompted.

  “The, er, address is in Islington. That’s . . . less than two miles off.”

  He was curious why this would be an issue. Lots of telegrams in London travele
d distances shorter than that, although he supposed those were primarily for business. “This isn’t the closest telegraph office to that address, though.” Douglas had already researched that when devising this plan for contacting Alice. “I presume you’ll send the message there?”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  She was still looking at him strangely, and he was fairly certain she hadn’t even read the body of the message yet. The thought of how she might react at that point only increased his discomfort. “So, can you send it?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  It seemed to take great effort for her to take her eyes off him and look back at the form. He waited, his embarrassment growing, while she read it. This was why he’d wanted a male clerk. A man might smirk over the contents but then send it and think no more about it. For a woman, it might set off a whole chain of questions—even though she would be forbidden as a matter of protocol to ask them.

  The standard practice was that the operator read the message aloud to ensure they had not misread the handwriting. This clerk followed the same procedure, but her voice sounded odd, and she stopped twice for an intake of breath. When she got to the end, she blinked, but there was a gleam in her eyes.

  “Yes,” said Douglas, “that is correct.”

  “Very good.” She counted the words. “That will be one shilling, please.”

  Her voice was brisk and businesslike, but she was brimming with unasked questions. He could see it in the way she was looking at him.

  He handed her the coin, which he’d had at the ready. “Will you be sending it right away?”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled, and once more a stunned, almost wondering expression came to her face. Douglas knew he could sometimes have a certain effect on women, but never to his knowledge had it happened with a young widow. He decided it could only be her reaction to the contents of his telegram. Perhaps she had a sentimental streak.

  Douglas hurried from the post office, eager for the next phase of his plan. Even though his encounter with the clerk had been incredibly awkward, it had also filled him with hope. If his telegram had affected a stranger so deeply, he could only pray it would do the same for Alice.

  Alice sat at her table, reviewing advertisements in the paper and circling a few of them. Tomorrow morning she would go out and pursue the more promising ones. It was a start. She was free to move ahead, and she was feeling optimistic.

  Miss T jumped up on the smaller table across the room. Alice realized the spinster book was still on it. She’d forgotten all about it. The cat sniffed at the book for a moment and then promptly sat on it.

  Alice couldn’t help laughing. “At least that book is good for something, isn’t it, Miss T?”

  That book had caused her a lot of problems, but she hadn’t needed it to extricate herself from at least one of them. Good old-fashioned honesty had done that. Bolstered from her visit with Miss Templeton, she’d decided to tackle her problems head-on. That included not putting off her refusal to Fred. He’d been surprisingly sanguine about it. Lucy had taken it less well, until Fred himself had told her not to worry, that it was all for the best. Alice was still shaking her head over that one, but she was happy to concur with Fred’s opinion.

  She stood up, intending to make herself some tea, deciding she might as well enjoy the luxury of having her own kitchen. Although she was hopeful, she knew there was a possibility she’d have to give up this lovely place and move back to a boardinghouse.

  Through the window, she could see a messenger boy approaching. With no idea whether this spelled good news or bad news, Alice went down to collect the telegram.

  As soon as the boy had been tipped and dispatched, Alice tore open the telegram.

  YOUR NAME IS CLEARED. IF YOU CAN CONSIDER FORGIVENESS PLEASE MEET ME AT THE BOOKSHOP.

  EVER YOURS

  DOUGLAS

  For a moment, Alice didn’t know what to do with herself. She laughed and choked back a sob at the same time.

  He had done it. He believed in her, and he’d proven it.

  Your name is cleared.

  Ever yours.

  A ten-page letter couldn’t have said more.

  Alice didn’t need two seconds to consider. She had fetched her hat and was out the door before the dust had even settled behind the messenger boy.

  Douglas was beginning to worry that this was a terrible plan.

  It had seemed like a good one at the time. He’d felt that by sending a telegram, he could get the most important information to her before she could walk away. Then they would be able to begin the real conversation—the one he’d been wanting to have ever since he’d left Glasgow with an entirely new set of goals for his life.

  He’d been waiting in the bookshop for some time now, though, frequently glancing toward the window, hoping to get a glimpse of Alice approaching the shop.

  Douglas had done so much to get to this point. First, he’d routed out Clapper’s treachery. Henley had been forced to act on that revelation, and the outcome had been supremely satisfying. Not only was Alice exonerated, but the door was open for her to be a part of the company’s future, if she wished it. Whether she chose to do so, and in what capacity, remained to be seen.

  Then had come the night of Lady Gordon’s party, when he’d endured the Charade of the Cut Direct. Miss Rolland had walked up to him, looked him in the eye, and walked away without uttering a word. She had ensured the moment took place when plenty of important people were standing around to witness it. It wasn’t as though Douglas had never been humiliated before, although it had been a while. Not since he was a young man, still in poverty. Nor did he care so much what the other guests thought of him. His priorities were different than they had once been. He didn’t have to marry into society to feel he was a success. That idea seemed shallow now.

  The only bad part—and it had been excruciating—had been putting up with Busfield’s superior attitude. Nothing had been required on his part to persuade Busfield that Miss Rolland had thrown Douglas over for him. Busfield believed it instantly. He’d cornered Douglas shortly afterward in the smoking room to share his particular brand of sociability.

  “You know she was never going to choose you, Shaw. You were only a passing fling. I indulged her because I am a generous man.” Throwing his shoulders back and looking supremely self-satisfied, Busfield had added, “Yes, she’s going to be glad she married me.” It was only then, for the briefest of moments, that Douglas had felt sorry for Miss Rolland.

  But Douglas had kept his mouth firmly shut and allowed the bank officer his moment of glory. He’d kept his eyes on the goal: winning Alice.

  For these reasons and so many more, Douglas had spent the afternoon at this bookshop, waiting on tenterhooks to see the results of sending that telegram. He’d put his whole heart into those few lines. Would she accept it?

  He was beginning to see the pitfalls to his plan. He didn’t know how long it would take for the telegram to reach her. What if she wasn’t home? If she didn’t show up, how should he interpret her absence? Should he assume she hadn’t yet received it, or that she was rejecting his request to meet? Maybe the messenger had gotten lost, or some other delay had occurred. The possibilities were endless.

  Whatever the case, Douglas was committed to this plan now. He’d stay here until closing time, if need be. If Alice still didn’t come, he’d find another way to reach her. He didn’t fancy loitering outside her house again, as that hadn’t worked out so well the last time, but he’d do it if he had to. He would talk to her, and when he did, he was going to lay out his case with the utmost care, because this was the most important negotiation he would ever undertake.

  He was turning over these things in his mind for the hundredth time when he finally saw Alice walking up the street. She paused at the window to the shop. The warmth in her eyes as their gazes met told him he was starting this negotiation from a very favorable position.

  Here, at last
, was the opportunity of a lifetime.

  It was fitting that he should be waiting for her at this bookshop. Through the window Alice could see him standing in the same place she’d first spotted him: next to the row of shelves where the spinster book had been housed. She hurried to the door, her heart bubbling in anticipation.

  He met her there, opening the door for her. They stood in the doorway, looking at one another.

  “You came,” he said. Simple words, but the joy on his face said much more.

  Ever yours.

  She wanted to melt into his arms, to stop resisting the powerful draw he’d always had on her. But there were so many things she had to know before she could unloose the hold on her heart.

  She held up the telegram. “Would you care to tell me what this is about?”

  “Alice, I’ve so much to tell you—”

  “Pardon me,” a man’s voice interrupted. It was a customer wanting to leave the shop.

  Murmuring their apologies, they moved away from the doorway. Douglas led her down one of the aisles of books.

  “Why are we meeting in the bookshop?” As much as she enjoyed being with him in one of her favorite places, she had to ask.

  He paused, turning to look at her much as he had done at the doorway, although this time with a sly smile. “I came to see if there were any books about Argentina.”

  “Argentina!” she blurted in surprise.

  “Yes. I’ll be going there in a few months, so I’d like to read up on the place. I’ve been trying to convince Mr. Henley to diversify for some time now, and there is an opportunity to forge new contracts there with beef exporters.”

  This was good news for Henley and Company, but why did he look so happy about going away? She couldn’t possibly have read too much into that telegram, could she? What was he driving at?

  She waved the telegram under his nose. “Douglas Shaw, are you going to explain this to me or not?”

  He took her hand. His touch was warm, bringing back so many memories. “Alice, I want to tell you everything. It’s too much to discuss here, though. Perhaps we might go somewhere else?”