by ID Johnson
“It’s to be expected,” the larger attorney replied with a shrug. “Anyone could send a telegraph to the authorities. We’ll need photographic evidence.”
“So a statement and a photograph?” Jonathan asked, looking from the lawyer to Charlie.
Meg shook her head. “No, I don’t want to make a fuss. I just want the police to know that I’m not with Charlotte and that the blood they found in my uncle’s motor coach isn’t mine.”
“I’m afraid the only way they will know that for sure is if you go there and tell them. In the meantime, a photograph will be enough to show them that you are here.” Halsey had a way about him that made Meg want to wipe the self-righteous smirk off of his face.
“Meg, we can ask one of the photographers to come here. It doesn’t have to be a production,” Charlie said quietly, his hand sliding up her arm to rest just below her elbow. “It will be all right.”
“I’ve spent my entire life trying to stay out of the papers,” she said between clenched teeth.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be marrying an Ashton then,” Mr. Halsey laughed.
“Perhaps you should reexamine that document in your hand,” Meg shot back, bringing his laughter to an abrupt halt. Her eyes met Charlie’s to make sure she hadn’t offended him; obviously, she wanted to marry Charlie—now.
He looked amused, perhaps proud of her ability to put the pompous lawyer in his place. “It will be more difficult for you to stay out of the papers now that you’re here, Meg, but we will make sure that whomever we invite to take the photograph is trustworthy.”
“I have a fellow in mind,” Mr. Overton said.
Meg met his eyes and then returned her gaze to Charlie, who was clearly waiting on a response from her. “Fine,” she managed.
“Very well, then,” Charlie said. “We’ll arrange it. In the meantime, Jonathan will send a telegraph to your mother and to the police in Southampton to alert them that you are here. If you have anything specific you’d like the messages to say, let him know.”
Meg shook her head. “I trust your ability to be concise and tactful more than myself.”
Jonathan offered a weak smile.
“We have other business to attend to,” Charlie said, surveying a sea of nodding heads before he turned back to Meg. “I’d like for Jonathan to escort you home.”
“That’s not necessary,” Meg began. “Carrie is here.”
“I’d like Jonathan to go with you.”
Jonathan was already up, and Meg wondered why it was so important to Charlie that he send his man with her. “If you insist,” she said, knowing there must be some reason. Turning to the attorneys, she said, “Thank you all for your assistance. It was lovely to meet all of you.” She nodded at each of them in turn but held Mr. Whicksmith’s gaze a bit longer, hoping he realized she was more thankful to him than the others.
“I will see you soon, Meg,” Charlie said, squeezing her hand once more as she stood. She rested her hand on his shoulder for only a moment before turning to take Jonathan’s arm. He led her out of the room without a word.
Once they’d reached the hallway, Jonathan signaled for Carrie to follow them, which she did at a distance. Turning to Meg, he asked, “Are you well?”
“I’m fine,” she admitted. “I must admit I’ve never sat in a room full of lawyers before.”
“You handled yourself quite respectfully,” Jonathan assured her.
When he turned to speak to her, Meg noticed more than the scent of mint she usually associated with him. There was another familiar smell as well, and she realized why he wasn’t quite himself. “Are you feeling well, Jonathan?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?” He held open the back door for her and she was happy for the cool breeze that brushed away the smell of whiskey, a scent she could’ve done without.
“I don’t know,” she replied, taking his arm again. “You just don’t seem quite like yourself today. You didn’t say much in the meeting.”
“There wasn’t much to say,” he replied. “I’m not an attorney.”
“No, but you are an expert on most things, including high society. I’d assumed you’d have had more to say about what Charlie and I should do to announce my presence.”
“There’s a reason I didn’t say anything,” he explained as they made their way around the pond. “Whatever you decide will be overridden by Mrs. Ashton anyway.”
Meg stopped in her tracks. “Whatever do you mean?” Perhaps this was the reason Charlie insisted he walk her home, so that he could break the news.
He turned to face her. “I mean… as soon as Pamela Ashton learns you are willing to let the world know of your engagement to Charlie, there will be a ball in your honor. And there’s nothing you can say or do to get out of it.”
Meg felt as if a ton of bricks had just come crashing down on her insides. “A ball?” she asked, her voice weak.
“Yes, and I’m sure that Charlie realizes that as well, but there was no reason to mention it in a crowded room, especially since he knew you’d stop breathing, the way that you have just now.”
Taking a deep breath, Meg realized he was right, and she wished they were closer to the bench so that she could sit. “I’m not sure I can do that, Jonathan.”
“Do what? Go to a ball? I think you can, though I know there are times when you decide not to at the last moment.”
She knew he was teasing, but she didn’t find it humorous at the moment. “Jonathan, I can’t even imagine standing up there in front of everyone, having to answer their prying questions, listen to their sarcastic comments….”
“Meg, you won’t have to worry about all that.” He was patting her gently on the shoulder. “Charlie has a way of handling those sorts of situations. It will be fine.”
“But what if he can’t?” she asked, leaning in a bit and using a sharp whispering voice as if she thought Charlie might somehow overhear. “What if he isn’t well enough to handle it himself?”
“All the more reason to get it over with now so that you don’t have to worry about it once we don’t have any excuses.”
His words made sense, but they didn’t make her feel any better. Suddenly, a stiff drink sounded like a good idea, and she wasn’t one inclined to drinking after she’d witnessed what it did to her uncle.
“Come along, Meg,” Jonathan said, taking her arm and leading her in the direction of her apartment. “We need not worry about it just now. Let’s wait for the hammer to drop before we become too uncomfortable. After all, there are lots of other things to spend our time dwelling on.”
Unfortunately, what he said was true. “Do you know what you’ll say when you send word to my mother?”
“I was thinking, ‘I’m alive, you miserable excuse for a mother. Now stop looking for me and leave me the hell alone.’”
Meg burst out laughing and had to take a moment to catch her breath, pausing just before the door that led to the stairwell. “That actually isn’t half bad.”
He was laughing too, but mostly at her, she assumed. “I was just going to say something to the extent of, ‘I’m alive and in America. You will hear more from me soon.’ To the police, I would say, ‘I wanted to inform you that I set sail on Titanic on April 10 and have arrived safely in New York on Carpathia. I was not with Ezra Bitterly or Charlotte Ross when they left my mother’s home and have no knowledge of the whereabouts of Miss Ross. I am happy to answer any inquiries you may have.’ Does that sound about right to you?”
She nodded, but she wondered how he happened to know the last names of the pair in question. She had known Charlotte for quite some time yet had no idea what her surname was. “Yes, that sounds perfect.” She wasn’t surprised that he would know precisely how to word it.
“All right then, Miss Meg. I shall leave you to your quarters,” he said, holding the door and gesturing for her to climb the stairs on her own.
“What? You’re not going to escort me up?”
“I’m afraid I h
ave quite the boring business meeting to get back to,” Jonathan replied with a sigh.
“I see. I don’t envy you there.”
“I am sure Charlie will want to call on you soon, or else have you over for supper.”
“He’d better,” Meg replied with a sharp nod. “Thank you, Jonathan.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, and looking into his bloodshot eyes, she added, “You know, if you ever want to chat about what we’ve been through, I’m happy to listen. You’re not in this all alone.”
He managed a weak smile. “I shall keep that in mind, my lady.”
She giggled at his forced formality and looked back to see Carrie was following her. She wondered why Jonathan felt he had to be immune to any sort of feelings. Hoping she’d find a way to reach him eventually, she entered her living area and collapsed onto the sofa, pondering how she could be so tired just from thinking.
Meg did find a way to doze off, and it was nearly supper time when Carrie finally roused her, insisting she get up now and get dressed or else she would be late for the evening meal. “Mr. Lane stopped by and said that it is important that you are well dressed this evening,” the brunette informed her mistress as she dragged her from the living room into the bedroom.
Though her mind was still a bit foggy from her nap, Meg yawned and asked, “Why do you insist on calling him Mr. Lane? He is also in the employment of the Ashtons, the same as you.”
Carrie was digging through the armoire and only turned to look at Meg briefly before shrugging and saying, “Everyone calls him Mr. Lane. He’s… more important than most of the other servants. Just as everyone calls Mr. Ashton’s second Mr. Pointer and Mrs. Ashton’s lady Ms. Dumont.”
Sitting down on the edge of her bed and contemplating rolling over onto her side and going back to sleep, Meg said, “I suppose overly well-to-do people have servants for their servants.”
“Miss! You can’t go back to sleep!” Carrie tugged on her arms and began dressing her in a lovely sapphire blue gown Mrs. Ashton had picked out for her. For a moment, Meg was reminded of Charlotte dressing her just before she went downstairs to face her mother for the final time.
“I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” Meg shouted, standing up and pushing Carrie aside. That last thing she needed was memories of that morning or thoughts of that particular young lady. She pulled the lilac gown off, and despite her insistence that she could do it herself, Carrie helped her work the blue one on over her undergarments.
“Your hair is quite messy. We’ll have to redo it.” Carrie gestured at the vanity Mrs. Ashton had purchased which occupied the corner nearest the window facing Charlie’s house.
“Can’t we just pin it up?”
“Miss, Mr. Lane was quite clear when he said you must look nice.”
Carrie’s voice was as insistent as she had ever heard it before, and Meg’s stomach began to twist into knots. “What is Mr. Lane on about, Carrie? Has he something up his sleeve?”
“I honestly don’t know, miss, but I’m not about to be blamed for your refusal to attend supper as polished as possible. Now, please, have a seat so I may work on the bird’s nest on your head.”
Meg pursed her lips together but had a seat anyway. “It isn’t half as bad as it was when I disembarked, is it?”
“No, miss,” Carrie replied, taking the pins out so that she could start over. “It isn’t so bad, but it simply won’t do when Mr. Lane insists….”
“I understand, Carrie,” Meg cut her off. They were quiet for a moment, and as her mind continued to linger on Jonathan, a question began to formulate in her mind. She wasn’t one to gossip, but she was a bit concerned. “Carrie, do you happen to know, does Jonathan have a reputation as… a drinker?”
“A drinker?” Carrie repeated as she combed Meg’s hair out. “No, not that I know of. However, he did used to work in a tavern, I believe.”
“Really?” Meg asked. Carrie was tugging at her hair so hard, her head nearly snapped back.
“Yes, I believe that’s where he and Mr. Ashton met.”
“Charlie frequenting a tavern? That seems odd to me.” She couldn’t imagine him wandering into a common saloon.
“I don’t think it was the sort of establishment Mr. Ashton visited regularly. I’m honestly not sure. Why do you ask?”
It was a good question. Meg wasn’t sure why she’d brought it up. It did seem like the sort of topic she would discuss with Kelly, but Carrie was not Kelly. “No reason, I suppose,” she replied as Carrie began to pin her hair up. “He just smelled a bit like alcohol this afternoon, and I guess I’d never noticed it before.”
“Maybe he’s upset about the boat.”
She assumed she meant the sinking of the passenger liner, and wondered why everyone insisted on calling it a “boat.”
“Or the wedding.”
Meg forgot that the girl had a handful of her hair and turned her head rather sharply, which stung a bit. “What’s that?”
“Oh, nothing,” Carrie said quickly, giving a nervous laugh. “Nothing at all.”
“Carrie?” Meg was still looking at her, and Carrie attempted to walk around to the other side so that she could continue to work on her hair.
“It really isn’t something I should repeat, miss,” she said, and she bit her bottom lip in a way that let Meg know she wanted to tell but thought she might end up in trouble over it. Meg continued to turn so that her hair was facing the mirror, a position in which Carrie couldn’t possibly reach it. The girl let out a sigh. “All right. I’ll tell you what I’ve heard—but it’s only speculation, and it’s probably not even true.”
Again, Meg said nothing, only stared at Carrie expectantly.
Carrie licked her lips and swallowed hard. She glanced over her shoulder, as if she thought Jonathan might suddenly appear in the room. In a quiet voice, she said, “Some folks say that Jonathan is secretly in love with….” She stopped, waiting to see if Meg could guess where she was going. Meg’s face was frozen. Even though she already knew what the last word in the sentence would be, she didn’t move, not even an eyelid. “Charlie.”
Meg had guessed as much herself while on the cruise liner. She’d even hinted at it to Jonathan, but she had put it out of her mind, thinking that if it were true, surely he would attempt to stop the wedding. But he’d done nothing of the sort. “Why would anyone say that?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Carrie admitted. “I’ve just heard some of the other servants joke about it. No one thinks it’s requited mind you. In fact, some of them jest that Charlie is so oblivious to it, he doesn’t even notice.”
“What is there to notice?”
“Would you… can I work on your hair, please?”
Meg reluctantly spun around, and Carrie took another deep breath and began to pin up the rest of Meg’s hair. “Some say it’s just a look now and again in Mr. Ashton’s direction. Mr. Lane has never been seen with a woman, and he’s nearly forty, you know? He has been seen with other fellows though, or so I’m told. All of this is simply rumor, mind you, Miss Meg?”
“I understand, Carrie. And you should know the only reason I ask is because Jonathan is quite important to me, and I’d hate to do anything to upset him.”
“Yes, miss,” Carrie answered. “Would you like face powder?”
Meg hardly ever used the substance, though many of the girls back in Southampton had done so. “No, thank you,” she replied. She let out a deep sigh. If her marriage to Charlie really was heartbreaking to Jonathan, she wished she could speak to him about it, but then there was nothing that could be done. Perhaps she could find a way to let him know just how important he had become to her.
Carrie went over to Meg’s jewelry box, which still had very little to choose from since she’d brought nothing with her from England, and pulled out a few of her newer pieces. Simple drop earrings and a necklace with blue stones were enough to compliment the outfit and the combs in her hair without overwhelming. After helping her into a pair of slippers that bette
r suited her dress than the boots she’d been wearing all day, Carrie stated, “I believe you’re ready, miss.”
“Thank you, Carrie,” Meg said, standing, and turning to face the girl. “I appreciate your help, and thank you for trusting me with the information you disclosed.”
“You won’t say anything to anyone, will you?”
“No, of course not,” Meg replied, knowing that was true partially because there would be no one to tell. She may say something to Charlie, given the opportunity, but that hardly counted since they were practically married.
“I’ll ring the house and let them know you’re ready.”
“Thank you, Carrie,” Meg said again. As the young woman walked away, she added “and I’m sorry I yelled at you when I was tired.”
Carrie giggled. “If you think that was yelling, you should see my grandmother when someone’s late for Sunday meeting.”
Meg couldn’t help but smile at the retreating form as Carrie made her way down the hall. She was lucky to have found someone else who could be a potential friend. Filling Kelly’s shoes was hard, but she did like Carrie, and she was good at her job. Before long, Meg thought Kelly just might need a lady herself, an idea that surprised her but also made her quite proud of everything her best friend and her family had accomplished. With one last glimpse in the mirror, Meg made her way out into the hall, hoping that whatever it was that made Jonathan insist she get gussied up wouldn’t be too overwhelming to her already nervous stomach.
Chapter Eight
“We can have that lovely orchestra that Josie and Walter used at their daughter’s coming out party, what are they called? The Moonlight Waltz, or something or other. Oh, and when you officially propose at the engagement party, we can do it outside so we can use firecrackers, just like they did at that wedding we attended in France. It’ll be wonderful.”
Meg’s fork was poised over her salmon, but her eyes were glued to Charlie’s across the table from her, neither of them even blinking.
“Mother, I really don’t think all of that is necessary. At all,” Charlie began, not losing hold of Meg’s eyes.