He watched the evening breeze catch a tendril of dark hair that had come loose from her chignon. The fading sunlight made it look the color of mahogany.
"Why do you say that?"
She brushed back the wisp of hair and turned to stare at the sunset. "Do you remember the day you gave me the abacus?"
"Of course."
"'Be nice to me,' you said. James used to say that, too, and when you said that, I assumed you meant what he always did when he said it to me."
There was a blush in her cheeks, from the crimson sunset or private shame, he couldn't tell. "I see."
"At first, I told myself that he had to leave in order to make a life for us. But over a long period of time, I began to realize it wasn't for us. It was for himself. And I began to turn away from him, I became very cold, very unloving. That, of course, drove us further apart. There came a point when I could no longer forgive him for leaving, or forgive myself for driving him away."
"Mara, it wouldn't have mattered. He would have left anyway." He reached out and touched her shoulder, but she did not look at him.
"I tried to tell myself that, but during our marriage, I said so many bitter, terrible things to him. Sometimes, I feel as if I have this demon lurking inside me, this dark and cruel creature that drives me on, that I cannot exorcise from my soul." She looked at him with those crystal gray eyes. "Nathaniel, you have no idea how cruel I can be."
He studied her face and saw only a woman abandoned and afraid. "I don't see cruelty in you."
"It's there, Nathaniel. The failure of my marriage wasn't all James's fault. It was mine as well."
"I think you're giving James far more credit than he deserves. He was a louse. Anyone would become bitter."
She shook her head. "I knew what he was like when I married him. But I was only sixteen, I was so young. After marriage, I just expected him to change, and I blamed him when he couldn't. He was what he was. I ended up hating him for being the man I had fallen in love with."
She wrapped her arms around her bent knees, hugging herself as if trying to hold in all her feelings. "We were living in a rented house off Hanbury Street when James left for America. It was a nice house, but we had to move right after he left. I couldn't afford the rent. I had no money, because I'd already used the money he'd given me to pay off his other debts."
"The money he'd borrowed against Elliot's," Nathaniel said. "Yes, I remember you telling me about that."
She didn't look at him; he didn't know if she even heard him. She was staring at some distant point on the horizon. "We took a room in a cheap little lodging house in Brick Lane. I don't know how the fire started. I woke up, I could hear Helen screaming, and everything was on fire."
Nathaniel listened, knowing she was reliving it all as she spoke.
"It was too high to jump and there was no way to climb down. When the floor fell in, we went with it. Helen became trapped beneath the timbers. The smoke was so thick, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even see. I didn't notice that the wood was smoldering, I just started grabbing pieces, clawing through them, trying to dig her out. I don't know when the screaming stopped. I just kept pulling away the wood. Some men came in and grabbed me, dragged me out of the house. They kept shouting that she was dead, over and over, and they wouldn't let me go back in."
Mara turned and looked at him, tears streaming down her face, catching the last rays of the sun. "They gave me morphine. They bandaged my hands. When James wrote to me and told me where he was, I wrote back. I told him Helen was dead, and I told him it was all his fault, that if he hadn't abandoned us, Helen wouldn't have died. I called him a murderer, and I told him never to come back." She made a choked sound. "As usual, he didn't listen. He was planning to come back, wasn't he? Four years later, and he thought he could waltz right back into my life again, with a gift under his arm and a promise on his lips."
Nathaniel reached out and grabbed her hand, held it tight. There was nothing he could say. He wished he could take her pain away, absorb it into himself, but he could not. So, he just held her hand in his and they sat in silence, watching as twilight faded into night. It was a long time before she spoke again. "Nathaniel?"
"Hmm?"
She pulled her hand from his. "Your brother saw the bank proposal. He read it before I came up."
Nathaniel wasn't surprised. "How do you know? Did you see him?"
"No. But I keep the things on my desk in a certain order, and when I came back from Mrs. O'Brien's, the proposal was not where I'd left it. I'm sure he read it while he was waiting."
Nathaniel raked a hand through his hair. "If he read the proposal, he knows about the train."
"There was nothing about the trains in my proposal."
He frowned, perplexed, and she went on, "I had decided that it would make for a more effective presentation if you were to demonstrate the train for the bankers instead. So I took out all the explanations. Viscount Leyland knows we're planning to make trains, yes, but that's all he knows."
"You didn't mention the sectional track or the accessories?"
"No."
Nathaniel thought about it for a few moments. "Adrian will realize that we're making electric trains, since this is an electrical equipment company, but without knowing the concept, he won't be able to copy us. That gives us some time." He paused, then said, "Today's Saturday. We'll go to the bank Monday."
"All right."
Her acquiescence surprised him. "How much do we borrow?" he asked.
"I suppose three thousand is out of the question?"
"I think so."
"Four?"
He smiled at her attempt to negotiate. "Eight."
"Five."
"Seven," he said firmly, hoping for six.
She groaned, pressing her forehead to her bent knees. When she spoke, her voice was so muffled he barely heard her. "Done," she whispered.
She sounded so miserable, he didn't know whether to laugh or wrap his arms around her. He did neither. "I need you, Mara. If we're to succeed, we have to work together. You have to trust me."
She nodded from the depths of her skirt. "I trust you. I don't have any other choice." She lifted her head to look at him in the moonlight. The wind once again lifted the loose wisp of her hair and it caught at the corner of her mouth. "But I'm still worried. You must think I'm foolish."
"No," he answered in a very gentle voice. He reached out his hand and pulled the tendril of hair from her lips. "I think you're very brave."
He might believe she was brave, but Mara knew it wasn't true. She wasn't brave at all. She was terrified.
***
They went to the bank Monday afternoon. After ten minutes in Milton Abercrombie's office, Mara couldn't decide whether she was relieved or irritated. Six weeks before, when she'd come to the banker asking for a mere extension to an existing loan, she'd been turned down flat, without a moment's consideration. The banker hadn't even listened to her.
But Nathaniel was having no such difficulty. If, at first, Mr. Abercrombie had not been quite deferential enough to the Honorable Nathaniel Chase, the drop of Viscount Leyland's name had corrected any misunderstanding regarding Nathaniel's station in life and his position in society. Mr. Abercrombie had then become quite solicitous, causing Nathaniel to give Mara a wink, clearly indicating that although he thought his brother beneath contempt, he wasn't above using the title to get his own way.
Mara studied the two men as they leaned over the desk in the banker's office, as they watched a little tin train circle round and round on a little tin track. She listened to them rhapsodize over the unique features and the power of electricity as they waited for the loan papers to be drawn up.
She sat, gloved hands folded over the proposal in her lap, a proposal the banker had barely glanced at before giving Nathaniel his full attention. She watched and waited until finally a clerk brought in the loan papers. Nathaniel unhooked the batteries, and the train rolled to a stop.
The clerk gave the loan papers
to Nathaniel, and he immediately handed them to Mara. She read the document carefully. The terms were fair, and she nodded, handing it back to him. He scanned it, took the pen, and scratched his name in the appropriate place.
When she took the pen and paper back from him, her eyes met his for only a moment before she looked away. She dipped the pen in the inkwell, took several deep breaths, and signed her name next to his.
It was done. A few minutes later, Mara and Nathaniel left the bank, with an additional seven thousand pounds in their account and the heartfelt blessings of Joslyn Brothers, Limited.
"Viscount Leyland's brother, indeed!" She sniffed. "Close friend of Lord Barrington." She rolled her eyes. "Of all the rubbish."
"I am a close friend of Lord Barrington." He glanced up and down the street before tucking her arm through his and guiding her across. "We went through a year at Cambridge together. Of course, I haven't seen him in a dozen years, but what's a little lost time between old friends?"
She laughed as they began walking back to Elliot's. "Now that we have the money, what's our next step?" she asked.
"We need to meet with Michael and decide on quotas, then we can start making the train engines. He'll need to hire the tinsmiths and start ordering parts. We'll also need to decide which products to phase out of production."
She nodded in agreement. "We can't just add the trains to what we already manufacture or we'll never be able to handle the overload."
They discussed options as they walked. Mara was surprised that they agreed on many ideas, but the ones they didn't agree on were hotly debated.
"Searchlights are one of our highest profit items," she said as they passed Mrs. O'Brien's. "Why should that be the first product we abandon?"
"Because it takes the most time to make. I don't—"
He stopped abruptly and released her arm. Taking a step backward, he looked down the alley between Mrs. O'Brien's and the factory.
"What is it?" she asked, also stepping back to see what he was looking at. In the center of the alley, two boys were fighting. One was on top, punching the other, as the boys around them shouted encouragement. She hadn't even heard them. They had seemed like part of the ordinary street noise to her, but for some reason they had caught Nathaniel's attention.
"Stay here," he said, pushing her away from the entrance. He turned back, and started down the alley. Mara peeked around the corner and watched.
Nathaniel brought two fingers to his mouth, and the sharp sound of his whistle echoed in the narrow corridor. "What's happening here?"
The boys instantly scattered, escaping at the opposite end, leaving their victim lying on the ground, sobbing. The sound of frustration and rage—and shame. Nathaniel recognized it and quickened his stride.
He knew this was the same boy he'd seen being teased weeks before. Although his hair was dirty, it was carrot red and not many children had hair of that bright shade. The child's nose was bleeding, and Nathaniel pulled his handkerchief from his pocket as he knelt down beside him, trying not to grimace at the smell that emanated from the boy. "Well, now, what's this?"
The child struggled to sit up, pressing a hand to his nose. "Leave me alone!"
He turned away, but not before Nathaniel saw the birthmark, a dark splotch on the boy's left cheek, and he understood what was happening. He understood all too well. Children could sometimes be so cruel.
"My name is Nathaniel." He held out the handkerchief. "Take it."
The boy snatched the piece of linen and held it to his nose, managing to cover the mark on his cheek at the same time. A small cut at his hairline had left a thin line of blood, already beginning to dry, down his forehead. Over the edge of the handkerchief, his blue eyes, bright with unshed tears, glared at Nathaniel. "Go away."
Nathaniel didn't move. "Are you all right? Let me see."
He reached out, intending to have a look at the boy's nose, but the child jerked his head away and scrambled backward. "No! Leave me alone."
"Your nose might be broken," Nathaniel said, moving closer as the boy retreated. When the child tried to rise, he caught him by the shoulders.
"Let me go!" the boy shouted. He kicked and struggled against the hold, still trying to shield his face with the handkerchief.
Nathaniel simply waited. After a few moments, the boy gave up the struggle, and Nathaniel examined the damage. "No, it's not broken," he announced. "Just bloody."
He gently pressed the handkerchief back over the boy's nostrils. "Hold it there. The bleeding will stop in a minute or two."
The boy obeyed, his outraged sobs quieting to hiccups.
Nathaniel heard footsteps and turned his head as Mara approached.
"Is he all right?" she asked, dropping to her knees beside him.
"He seems to be," Nathaniel answered and turned his attention back to the boy. "This is Mrs. Elliot. Anything hurt? Your ribs, maybe?"
"Everything hurts," the boy mumbled, his words muffled by the linen.
"I'll have a look, all right?" Nathaniel quickly ran his hand over the child's ribs, noting that the white shirt he wore was ragged and filthy. One sleeve was stained with blood, and Nathaniel realized he must have scraped an elbow. "You're pretty tough," he said. "Nothing broken."
He glanced at Mara. "He has some cuts and they ought to be washed. I have iodine and bandages in my flat. Let's take him there."
She nodded and rose to her feet. "Certainly."
"No!" the boy protested. "I ain't goin' nowhere with you."
Nathaniel stood up and held out his hand, ignoring the boy's protest. "C'mon," he said.
"No." He glared at them over the bloody handkerchief.
Nathaniel placed his hands on his hips. "Young man, you have a lot to learn about fighting. The first rule is don't fight with somebody who's five times your size. You have some cuts and we need to clean them. So, if you don't come with me, I'll just lift you up and carry you."
The boy didn't answer, and he didn't move, but when Nathaniel started to make good his threat, he scrambled to his feet. "All right, all right, I'm comin'," he grumbled, his words muffled by the handkerchief. "I'm comin'."
Nathaniel gripped him firmly by the shoulder and marched him toward Mrs. O'Brien's as Mara followed.
When they reached his flat, Nathaniel grabbed the boy around the waist and lifted him up onto a table. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said.
Mara's gazed traveled up and down the child, and she wished they could do more than wash his cuts. The boy smelled frightful, and she wanted to drag him to the nearest bathhouse.
Nathaniel disappeared into the other room, and returned with a pitcher of water and a basin. "Keep an eye on him," Nathaniel instructed her as he set both pitcher and basin on the table. "I'll find the iodine and bandages."
Mara stepped up to the table and reached for the pitcher as Nathaniel turned away. She cast a dubious glance at the boy as she poured water into the basin, but he sat without moving, his legs dangling over the edge of the table, still holding the bloodstained handkerchief to his nose, staring down at the holes in his ragged knickers.
Helen had been only a bit younger than this boy when she died. Not wanting to think about that, she struggled for something to say. It had been so long since she'd been around children.
"What's your name?" she finally asked him.
"Billy Styles."
"Styles?" she repeated as Nathaniel stepped up beside her and placed a bottle of iodine, a roll of linen bandages, and a couple of clean rags on the table. "Is Calvin Styles your father?" she asked.
He nodded. "That's me dad."
Nathaniel frowned but made no comment. Taking off his jacket, he tossed it aside and began to roll up his sleeves. "All right, Billy. Let's take care of those cuts."
The boy shook his head violently from side to side as Nathaniel reached for the handkerchief. Mara watched as he gently began to pry the bloody scrap of linen from Billy's fingers and spoke to the child.
"You know, when I was
a boy, I was beaten all the time. The other boys made fun of me, you see."
Billy lifted his head and loosened his grip as a frown of skepticism knit his brows. "They didn’t."
"Oh, yes they did. I stuttered." Nathaniel set down the handkerchief and reached for the rag. He dipped it in the basin of water, and wrung it out. "St...st...stuttered all the t...time. They used to laugh at me and make fun of me and then I'd become angry, and they would beat me up."
Lifting Billy's chin, he gently began wiping away the dried blood from the boy's face. Mara saw the boy flinch, and she noticed Nathaniel quickly started talking again as he cleaned the cut.
"One time, when I was a few years older than you, I came home with a bloody nose just like yours. It was summertime, and I was staying with my grandfather. My clothes were all torn and bloody, too, just like yours, and I thought sure I would be in trouble for fighting, but that didn’t happen."
Nathaniel dropped the rag in the water and lifted the boy's elbow. Unbuttoning the cuff, he pushed the sleeve up the boy's arm and examined the scrape. "Grandfather didn't shout at me or anything. He just cleaned me up, and he asked me what happened."
Mara stood beside him and watched his hands, noticing the gentleness in them as he cleaned the boy's scraped elbow even as she recalled the force with which he'd rammed a fist into the belly of the boy's father.
"Well, I told him how they always made fun of me and how they were always trying to fight with me. I always ended up losing the fights and being beaten up because I wasn't as big as they were. I was stuttering so badly, I'm surprised Grandfather understood what I was saying, but he did. And he didn't laugh at me either. Do you know what he did?"
Billy shook his head, staring up at Nathaniel and listening intently. Mara picked up the bottle of iodine and a clean rag. She saturated a corner of the rag with the orange liquid, enjoying the sound of Nathaniel's voice as he told the story.
"Grandfather took me down to see Mr. Donovan, the blacksmith." Finished wiping away the blood, he dropped the used rag in the basin of water, and Mara handed him the one soaked with iodine. "Now, I only went to Grandfather's in the summertime, but even I
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