Entanglements

by Rachel McMillan

  He was absolutely the least qualified Prince to rescue Esther. For what did he have to give her? Except for this. All of this. He didn’t have money, as his father reminded him, but he had a connection to place and a reverence for the warmth of family he knew she had lacked her whole life.

  The street was soon smiles as Nic took the time to make eye contact with familiar faces from his rambles and shopping and organ playing.

  He made a quick stop at the butcher’s for his dad’s evening meal before turning his street corner home.

  He was surprised to find Widow Barclay and Mrs. Mayweather talking at the door of his building.

  “What are you doing here?” Nic asked kindly.

  “Fairy godmothering.” Mrs. Mayweather explained, using the same term she had when first he had fixed her piano.

  “Oh.” Nic said and led them upstairs.

  Once inside, Nic saw to tea and his dad accepted their request to speak to Nic alone, retreating with his crossword puzzle and taking one of the delicacies from a white box Mrs. Mayweather set on the side table.

  “Is your piano alright?” Nic asked, shifting in his seat, wondering how these two knew each other and why they were both here.

  “Mr. Ricci, you’re a smart man.” Widow Barclay said.

  “T-thank you.”

  “And a wonderful piano player.”

  “T-thank you, Mrs. Mayweather.”

  “And now we need you to be a knight.” Widow Barclay looked pointedly at the chess board on the table bearing a half-finished game Nic had started with his father.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Thomas is a brute.” Widow Barclay said.

  “And a lout,” added Mrs. Mayweather.

  “I know.” He was nauseous just thinking about it.

  “Mr. Ricci, you are a teacher of mathematics are you not?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And so I assume you are familiar with statistics?”

  “Yes, Widow Barclay.”

  “So statistically speaking, how likely is it that I am sleeping during your piano rehearsals with my young charge?”

  Nic felt all of the words and feeling and thought deflate from his core and settle somewhere down in his toes, taking his breath with them. “Er…” Because if she wasn’t asleep, statistically speaking, then there was a very sure probability that she had heard …and heard and … and hadn’t he thought he could read a ghost of a smile more than once when he checked to see the widow slumbered? He supposed it to be a pleasant dream, a calm reflex of relaxation.

  “Mr. Ricci,” Mrs. Mayweather inspected her teacup. “The widow and I would like you to know that while we appreciate your efforts as a rehearsal pianist, we could have found much better.”

  “I am very confused.”

  “Father Francisco has spoken of you for years. I have seen how you tune the organ, how you offer free piano lessons. I have seen how the children love you. Mr. Ricci, you were not chosen as a rehearsal pianist…” Mrs. Mayweather chose a rather annoying time to take a long, emphatic sip of tea. “But as a suitor.”

  “A charming prince.” Widow Barclay said.

  “F-for Es… for Miss Hunnisett?” Nic wasn’t sure how he was holding it together. Widow Barclay, if indeed awake, had heard the delicious sparkle of Esther’s laugh in his presence, had witnessed more chess playing than concentrated practice and then… there was the matter of kissing. It wasn’t a very loud activity, to be sure, but certainly its prolonged bouts of silence must have sparked some curiousity.

  “You must save her, Mr. Ricci.” Mrs. Mayweather said.

  “How do you factor into all of this? How do you two know each other?”

  “Esther’s mother was a close friend of both of ours.” Widow Barclay explained. “And it is in her memory that we pry Esther from the greed of her father and brutish tactics of Thomas.”

  “But Est..Miss Hunnisett believes she is honouring her mother. She has a strong sense of duty.”

  “Love trumps duty.” Widow Barclay quoted him.

  “And how do you propose we do this?”

  Mrs. Mayweather leaned toward the table and exchanged her tea cup for a pawn. “Chess, Mr. Ricci, is all about tactical strategy.”

  “And you will need that and more if you are going to rescue our Rapunzel from her tower,” added Widow Barclay.

  “Rapunzel?” Nic said.

  Widow Barclay laughed into her tea cup. “Oh Mr. Ricci, my dear, must I remind you that I wasn’t sleeping? The next tenants of that dire little lean-to will find discarded hairpins in the floorboards for years.”

  “What possible strategy can I have? The man is powerful.”

  “Even the most powerful men have the weakness of thinking they are beyond reproach.” Mrs. Mayweather reached into her handbag. “Have you seen the newspaper?”

  III

  Capture: To remove a piece from the board via a legal move.

  Esther’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Widow Barclay was seated opposite her on the chaise lounge in her bedroom and talking of Nic. Of her. In detail. Great detail. Details she thought were safe given the widow’s shroud of sleep.

  “I wasn’t that asleep.” Widow Barclay explained. “Do you really think a Barclay would snore?”

  Esther removed her palm from its position: slapped over her gaping mouth. “B-but… Then you know that…”

  “That Thomas is a brute and Nic is a gentleman? It’s ironic, isn’t it? Thomas has the lineage, that ridiculous wave in his hair and Nic comes from nothing and yet one is a prince and the other the dragon. One would trap you and the other would cherish you: down to every last clever bone in your body, my intelligent girl.”

  “But…”

  “My sweet, first I had to test him for you. Find out if he was worthy. The moment Mrs. Mayweather said she had a young man by to tune her piano, I was intrigued. Nic stayed to tea and as well as being remarkably handsome he told her all about his father. Father Francisco confirmed the rest during one of our Charity Bazaar drives. He was handsome, he had a heart of gold and he had the intellect and musical quality needed for our Esther.” She stroked Esther’s cheek. “I promised your mother, my dear and we are looking out for you. Then, I had weeks to watch you fall in love.” Widow Barclay laughed. “Perhaps not watch so much as hear.”

  Tears formed in Esther’s eyes and then they trickled: one, two, a hundred. They might never stop flowing. “You allowed me this kindness. And I wasn’t always kind to you.”

  “You didn’t know you were in the presence of an ally.” Widow Barclay took out the handkerchief that usually meted the slow breaths of her charade of a snore and passed it to Esther.

  “I was your mother’s companion first, my dearest. And I promised her I would watch over you. Your mother left me a kind inheritance. She had sold a necklace when she turned poorly. I am calculating a way to ensure you never have to worry again.”

  “I have seen the evidence of liquor smuggling. In Thomas’s satchel and because Mrs. Mayweather told me about a faulty delivery to her husband’s factory. Also, I have overheard his conversations with my father. The sooner he gets me away the better. He wants to leave by the end of the week before the authorities close in.”

  “To arrest him?”

  “Oh they won’t prosecute him. He can probably buy the police off. He probably has already given the amount of inventory there is. But he is worried about the family name. The Weatherton name is half of Boston harbour.” Esther shook her head. “But if I leave Thomas, then perhaps my father will be left to the authorities.” She spread her hands.

  “Serves him right.” Widow Barclay held tightly to Esther’s hand. “You’ll need a strategy.”

  “What strategy? I am lost. I can’t report my own fiancé to police that might not act on his crimes. Then I will bear his punishment the moment he has me imprisoned at Rutherford.”

  “Do you trust me?” Esther nodded. “Do you trust Mr. Ricci.”

  “Yes.”
<
br />   Widow Barclay turned and rummaged in her knitting bag. She retrieved the Ever After compilation and pressed it in Esther’s hand. “You forgot this at the rehearsal room today. Trust that Nic can save you from your tower, my beautiful Rapunzel.” The widow gently fingered a strand of Esther’s flowing curls. “But also trust that you can meet him halfway in that rescue.”

  Esther looked down at the book. “Why? How?” she smoothed her finger over the gold embossed lettering. “How will this help me? To cheer me up?”

  “Look inside.”

  The widow kissed her gently on the top of her head and left Esther in the bower of her bedroom.

  Esther crawled under the covers of her canopied bed and peeled back the cover. She flipped through the chapters and sketches, ran her fingers over the detailed illustrations, read a few favorite sentences. Tucked just inside the beginning of the Rapunzel story was a note in a fine, clear hand.

  My dear Esther,

  There is nothing I desire more than to rescue you and spirit you off. Alas, I don’t have a trusty steed, I don’t even have a second-hand Ford…

  The kindly Widow Barclay and Mrs. Mayweather, two unexpected allies in our plight, encouraged me to look to chess for our solution. And so I have. On the back of this letter is a map for our strategy. Together we will perfect 4 moves that will win us the game.

  So we’ll castle early, move our king to safety and put our rooks into play.

  Let’s pretend you’re playing white because you will be our knight Esther. You could try the Queen’s Gambit, but might I suggest an English opening?

  The fact of the matter is, I simply cannot live without you.

  I have never given my entire heart to a person before, but now that it is yours, it is quite incredibly freeing. I see that it was never truly mine to begin with and to keep it tucked inside any longer is just downright selfish.

  And so, with all of my love, I am trusting your skill, which is immeasurably better than mine and putting both of our hearts and lives in your more than capable hands… and brain. You cannot be alone in the match, but with a second player we might be able to pull off our victory.

  I await your next move.

  N.R.

  Esther read the letter several times before turning the page over to study the strategy. Four key moves. They wouldn’t win the whole game but they gave her a start.

  First, f 3 – e5 or a Fool’s mate. Capitalize on your opponent’s key mistakes. The second, N x e 4: a classic example of at two knight’s defense or a fork trick to take out two pieces in one move. Rh1 + 28. Kxhl Qh2# A pin! Yes! To pin the opponent’s pieces using Queens, rooks and bishops to pull off a powerful move wherein the opponent cannot move a piece without exposing a more valuable defending piece to capture by the attacking piece.

  Rh7 + The skewer. Truly, Esther hadn’t realized chess sounded so violent before. But, why shouldn’t she revel in the attacks and the skewers? They were going into battle. The skewer was similar to a pin but often found the King in absolute check.

  Esther kissed the note before leaping from her bed in the direction of her desk and blotter. She retrieved a few sheets of paper and a pencil and copied the strategies from Nic’s letter. Then, she set to work. She had allies in Widow Barclay and Mrs. Mayweather. She knew her opponent Thomas’s deep weaknesses. She knew where to expose his most vulnerable culpability. But there were still rogue pieces on the board. Her father, for one. Titus Fang for another. For the man had become a fixture outside the door. His brawny shadow darkened the hall and startled the already-silent dinner table into a resounding thud.

  Esther smoothed the paper with her hand and scribbled. Sleep took a long time in coming as Esther was too excited to put the game into play. When it finally arrived it was filled with dreams of him. A fireplace. A chessboard. A piano. His lips over her ear and his fingers in her hair.

  She awoke, rested and excited, the last outline of Nic dissolving slowly with her subconscious to the point where she couldn’t remember the dream in great detail. Only that he had been in it so clearly, so constantly that she was determined to shift the dream into constant reality.

  11

  At breakfast, her father and Thomas were silent. Too silent. Deadly silent. Esther had several ideas of how to extinguish herself from the burning intensity of their plans, but she wanted to play her cards right. Before yesterday, she hadn’t considered a course that incriminated her fiancé. Then, bolstered by a life-altering kiss, a forced goodbye, and armed with chess strategies tucked into a book of fairytales, she could do anything.

  “Hello.” Esther helped herself to muffins and sausage from the sideboard, her eyes resting on the untidy papers spilling out of Thomas’s briefcase. She sensed him following her visual direction so pasted a smile. “I suppose I have another long day of packing.”

  “Esther,” her father said “Has anyone been following you to your rehearsals?”

  “Other than Titus Fang?” Esther looked innocently at Thomas.

  “Any reporters? Has anyone been round the house when you are not here?”

  “I am never here alone, father. Why? Does this have something to do with Thomas’s name in the newspaper yesterday?” She knew they underestimated her. She was as superfluous to them as one of the baubles in her ears.

  “You saw that?” Thomas swerved to her.

  “Yes. It is my business if I am to be married to a man involved in illegal activity.”

  “Has anyone talked to you about our business, Esther?”

  “Father, the only people currently in my circle as I prepare to be whisked away to Rutherford are you and Thomas, Mr. Ricci the pianist, Widow Barclay and Mrs. Mayweather. Why would any one of those people care about your business?” A question, she recalled, avoided a direct lie.

  Thomas looked as if he were mentally fanning through the names in the small roster she had given him.

  Esther felt a heart jump. She needed him to leave, preferably with her father and leave the case behind.

  “Morland cannot have made this up on his own!” Thomas threw his napkin on the table. “Someone has fed the Herald information.”

  “Calm down, son. One article reads like a theory or speculation. If there was evidence… but there isn’t.”

  Not yet. Esther thought, sipping her tea.

  “I cannot have my family’s name associated with this garbage. We are not doing anything that other people are not. We are functioning as a respectable business. We only use our barges to assure a little pleasure on the side of it. We make a minimal cut of a little bit of an extracurricular activity. What is wrong with that?” Thomas stabbed Esther a look.

  “I’m guessing that’s a rhetorical question.” Esther muttered into her tea cup.

  “We are in business together.” Her father reassured. “Our fine family name will be upheld alongside yours. As soon as you marry Esther…”

  “Yes!” Thomas leaped to his feet. “Esther! We will marry.”

  Esther felt the room swim. “But we’re to settle into Rutherford and marry next month!”

  “An elopement! A scandal! Anything to draw attention from these nonsensical rumours.”

  “Excellent.” Her father assessed her. “Esther, go put something suitable on. We’ll need someone to smuggle photographs from the ceremony. It is your wedding day! Now, about a minister.”

  “Stop!” Esther slammed her hand on the table. “I am getting married today?”

  “Why ever not, Esther? It was going to happen in a few weeks. Do you truly care when?”

  Esther chewed her lip to bleeding point. Some part of her –some kernel of hope nestling deep down always thought that the tide would change and her fate would shift. She had to be calm. Collected. She had to have faith. She still had a few moves to play, a few pieces on the board. She had plotted out a possible strategy given Nic’s moves the night before, but a true player had to be willing to flexibly change their plan when an unexpected opponent appeared on the board.


  “Father, Thomas.” Esther regulated her voice. “If I am to marry today, there are still preparations I would like to make. A few feminine indulgences. It might seem silly to you but a girl dreams of her wedding day.”

  Father and Thomas, clearly relieved at the reason for her hesitation, sighed with laughter and relief.

  “Of course, Esther. Surely, sir, we can give your daughter a few hours for her feminine whims?”

  “Father, there is priest named Francisco in the North End. At St. Stephen’s. Mother used to raise money there for his Charity Bazaars.” She was improvising and hoped it worked. “I am thinking he would be amenable to performing a last minute ceremony. I would like for you to try and procure him. In mother’s memory.”

  “A lovely thought.” Esther’s father rose and patted her shoulder.

  “Thomas, I would like you and father to give me a few moments alone so that I can collect my thoughts. I will need someone to ring for Mrs. Mayweather and Widow Barclay. They will be able to attend me. I will need to have my dress altered quickly and a suitable hairstylist.”

  “Of course.” Thomas smiled. “Esther, you will not regret this. The sooner we marry, the sooner we can leave the smoke of this wretched city.” He crossed to her and leaned over to brush her cheek. “And once we are settled at Rutherford, we can plan our honeymoon.”

  Esther nodded and smiled. The men so were preoccupied adhering to her simple girlish demands for her wedding that when they left the dining room, they failed to notice Thomas’s briefcase was exposed at the end of the table.