Siri Mitchell

by Unrivaled

  “He doesn’t—”

  Mother indicated Sam with a gesture of her chin.

  I lowered my voice to a hiss. “You know he won’t do anything about it.”

  Sam didn’t even pretend not to be listening. “He did. He said he’d put the Fancies back into inventory, but I should check with you first to make sure.” Mrs. Hughes had served him a plate filled with eggs, and he was shoveling them into his mouth with relish.

  “See?” I gestured toward Sam with an open palm. I was still going to have to straighten things out.

  “I don’t care about Stix or Mr. Blakely or boxes, Lucy. You were about to say something about the proposed sale—”

  “Sam, can you take me down to Stix?”

  “Lucy—if you would just listen!” Now Mother had stood as well.

  When she grabbed for me I ducked and moved toward the kitchen. “We can talk when I get back.”

  I waited for an hour before the manager became available. He smiled as he greeted me. “The Queen of Love and Beauty, herself! What can I do for you this fine morning?”

  It was cold and dreary and it was very nearly noon, but I hadn’t come to quibble. “I was told that you wouldn’t take your delivery of Fancy Crunch this morning.”

  “Ah.” He dropped my hand as his smile slid from his face. “Isn’t there someone else to whom I should be speaking?” His gaze was darting in every direction but my own.

  Father was ill, Mr. Blakely unsuited to business, and Mother would just as soon sell the company as figure out what had happened. “Perhaps we could speak in your office.”

  “I don’t—”

  I stepped through his door before he could say anything more. “We had to take your order back to the confectionery. May I ask you why you refused it?”

  He was lingering in the doorway as if he hoped I might rejoin him in the hall.

  I turned my back to him and sat in the chair positioned in front of his desk.

  “I—just—” I heard him heave a sigh. He came around to sit behind the desk. “I really don’t feel comfortable—”

  “You must understand City Confectionery’s situation . . . considering my father’s illness . . . ?”

  “Of course, of course!”

  “So I’m certain you’ll also understand why we were concerned when our deliveryman came back without having fulfilled your order.”

  He sighed again as he fiddled with a pen. He looked up at me. “If you must know, it’s our new contract with Standard Candy.”

  “Fancy Crunch isn’t a Standard candy.”

  “That’s where the problem lies. Is there not someone else from your company I can speak to, Miss Kendall? Someone from the business office, perhaps?”

  “Mr. Blakely is the superintendent charged with production, but today he happens to be . . . supervising. He couldn’t come himself, but I assure you that he has complete confidence in me.”

  “There’s really nothing to discuss. Standard’s new contract doesn’t allow us to sell City Confectionery products.”

  “When you say, ‘doesn’t allow . . . ’?”

  “The contract forbids it.”

  “How can Standard forbid you from selling our candies?”

  He gave me a look that was fraught with pity. “If we sell your candies, then they won’t allow us to sell theirs.”

  “Why that’s—that’s—not fair!”

  “Fairness is something I find overrated. Surely you can agree with me that sentiment has no place in business. Our arrangement with Standard is purely contractual and has nothing at all to do with you.”

  It had everything to do with me! “But as a man of business, can’t you see how this would damage our company?”

  “It’s not within my power to control.”

  “So you’re going to choose Standard over us?”

  His brow peaked in disbelief. “I have to choose Standard. I sell two Royal Taffies to every packet of Fancy Crunch that I sell. You must see that I have no choice. My hands are tied.”

  “But I—can’t you—!”

  He rose, walked around his desk, and took me by the elbow. Then he led me to the door. “If I can make a suggestion, Miss Kendall? You’ll be much more successful as a Queen of Love and Beauty than you will be in business. Fancy Crunch will always be a personal favorite, but I have to be able to sell my customers the things they want.”

  36

  Lucy came at me on Tuesday evening in the club dining room, eyes blazing, finger wagging. “I’ll admit that what I did was wrong, but what you did was completely and absolutely underhanded, sneaky, and patently unfair!”

  “I really don’t—” She wouldn’t stop coming, so I took a step backward and then another. And still she kept at it. People at the club were starting to stare at us.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t know about the contract with Stix.”

  What could I say? I tried the obvious. “What contract with Stix?”

  She poked me in the chest with her finger. “You despicable, loathsome liar!”

  “What do you want me to say? You caught us red-handed.”

  That shut her up. The eyebrows that had slanted with suspicion now gathered with hurt. “You . . . you knew about it?”

  “We’re not playing a game, Lucy. My father means to run your father out of business. I could tell you it’s not right or it isn’t fair, but it doesn’t make any difference. And if delaying only means you’ll keep playing dirty tricks, then can you blame us?”

  “How could you?” The words came out in a whisper that ripped into my heart.

  “Lucy, I’m sorry.”

  “But—you can’t do that!”

  “I think . . . in fact, that we did.” All legal and proper. That’s what the lawyer had been for.

  Her chin trembled for just a moment. And then she lifted it, nostrils flaring.

  “But I agree with you. It was dirty and underhanded.” It didn’t hurt to admit to what was true, did it? I stepped closer. “And if Stix signed the contract, I wonder how many others did too?”

  “No one else but Stix refused their deliveries.”

  “This week.”

  Her brow furrowed for a moment; then she looked at me through narrowed eyes. “Why are you telling me all this? Why are you being nice to me?”

  “There’s more to life than winning. And I don’t want to win anything this way.” It was bad enough that City Confectionery would be given to me once my father had bought it. And it was bad enough that Alfred was sneaking around with Evelyn behind Lucy’s back. How much worse could things get? I nodded and then stepped around her.

  She touched my arm with her hand. “Thank you.”

  I couldn’t even bring myself to look at her. “Please, don’t thank me.” I didn’t deserve it.

  I stayed with the car until after Nelson had parked it in the garage, and then I helped him pull the cover up over it. As I walked back to the house, I caught sight of Jennie as she went in the back door.

  Wondering why she was out so late, I followed her inside and then up the back stairs. A nice girl like her shouldn’t be out alone after dark. I caught up with her as she opened the door to her room.

  “Mr. Clarke!” As she put one hand to her chest, the other shoved something into her pocket. “You gave me a fright. Do you . . . do you need something?”

  No. Yes. “I just . . .”

  She took her hand from the doorknob and stood before me, hands folded in front of her.

  “I’m sorry. Never mind.” She reminded me of my baby sister, and I’d just wanted to make sure she was all right. And to be honest, I’d wanted someone to talk to. A regular person. Someone who didn’t have to worry about dinners and balls and what people might say about her. But I’d forgotten that she hadn’t known me as Charlie; she only knew me as Charles. “Never mind. Enjoy the rest of your night. And be careful out there after dark.”

  She bobbed her head before turning and slipping through her door. But not before I had a gli
mpse once more of what was inside: an iron bed and a dresser with a pitcher and basin. A small, threadbare rug on the floor. And all those fanciful flowers and wreaths she’d made of candy wrappers. Royal Taffy’s red mixed with Fancy Crunch’s green. There was more furniture and more warmth, more hope in that small room than there had been in the house where I’d grown up.

  How was it right that a maid in my father’s house could look forward to a better future than either of my sisters would ever have? That she could hope for things from him—food, a bed, and board—that my sisters had never received.

  Why was I so bent on staying here? Why didn’t I leave? I stood there at the top of the stairs and thought of doing just that. Why should I stay and help a man so bent on destroying others . . . even though he insisted he was just returning a favor?

  Because he left.

  I had to stay because he had gone. I had to prove to myself that I was worthy of his having stayed. If I could just—just be the son he’d needed. If I had been that son back then, maybe he would have stayed. That’s what I had always thought. That it was some fault in me that had driven him to leave.

  But . . . that wasn’t what he’d said, was it? He said he’d thought I could do a better job than he had.

  I hadn’t understood it when he’d said it, and I didn’t understand it now. The only way I could make sense of it was if I stayed. No matter what he asked, no matter what he planned. I’d just have to trust that he was telling the truth about returning that favor. But could I? Especially when it was hurting Lucy? Could I trust that he was telling me the truth?

  37

  I passed a quiet Wednesday morning reading to my father. When I went downstairs for lunch, Sam was in the kitchen talking to Mrs. Hughes. He was leaning against the counter as he ate. “It’s the strangest thing!” He was shaking his head as he bit into an apple.

  “What is?” There was a terrible feeling of doom in my stomach and an insistent prickling at the back of my neck.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me and then straightened, setting the apple down on his plate. “Everyone’s returning their Fancy Crunch orders.”

  “Returning . . . ?”

  “Pa says they keep insisting that we’re using spoiled ingredients.”

  What? “But . . . we aren’t! We never did. Not even back before the law changed when we could have.” It was something Father would never do.

  Sam shrugged and went back to eating his apple. “Of course not. But that’s what everyone’s saying.”

  “Did you ask why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why they’re all saying that.”

  “No.” He took another bite, breaking the skin with a crunch. He chewed for a moment, then swallowed. “They must have heard it from someone, though.”

  Someone? I knew exactly who that someone was. Desolation swirled through my chest, stealing the wind from my lungs. What was there to hope for now? If everyone thought our candy was spoiled, then it was just a matter of time before they stopped placing orders altogether.

  Of all the dirty, no-good tricks! Hell was too good for Charlie Clarke. I hoped there was someplace even darker and hotter and more miserable for his soul to go and rot. If he thought that this was going to make me stop fighting, then he was sorely mistaken!

  By the time Mr. Arthur picked Mother and me up for the electricity company’s annual ball, I was furious . . . though not so furious that I failed to note there was something different about Mr. Arthur. He seemed . . . more . . . somehow. More interesting, more vital. Even . . . was he more handsome? I took a long look at him. Definitely more handsome. As he escorted us up the walkway, his step was almost jaunty.

  Unfortunately, he left me little time to admire him in close proximity, his attention being devoted to the details of the evening. There was to be an electrical light demonstration interspersed with the dances. But even his neglect was benign. And he was ever the gentleman. He’d invited Charlie to the ball in order for me to have some company. And no matter how much I protested, Mr. Arthur insisted that Charlie and I dance.

  When Charlie offered me his arm, I must admit that I might have taken hold of it with a bit of unladylike violence. Once on the dance floor, he looked down at me as if the whole world was coming down on his head instead of mine.

  How dare he look more miserable than I felt!

  I felt like pinching him, but I rapped a gloved fist against his chest instead.

  He glanced down at me as if startled.

  “How can you be so—so—mean?” I’d wanted another word, a better word, but there was just no other description for the way that he was being. And once I said it, tears began to leak from my eyes.

  He’d stepped away from me, and the hand that had held mine was now cupping my elbow. “Oh . . . Come on, don’t—!” He looked around the room wildly as if he didn’t know what to do with me.

  “I am not crying!” I swiped at my tears with a crooked finger. How could my tears betray me at a time like this! “I’m not like you, Charlie Clarke. The company is all that we have. It’s all I have. You father has piles of money, and he’s earned it all from our candy. Can’t you just leave us alone? How much more do you have to take from us?”

  “I don’t—”

  One of those colored searching lights of Mr. Arthur’s electrical demonstration found us. In that sudden bright clarity, Charlie’s features were frozen in relief. As soon as it moved on, he grabbed me and tried to pull me off the ballroom floor. But I had tired of being pulled around by him. “Will you stop!” I wrested my arm away.

  But he seized me and dragged from the dance floor anyway. And then he pulled me to his chest and kissed me, stealing my breath just as surely as his father had stolen Royal Taffy.

  I broke away, my thoughts in a whirl. What had we been talking about? I’d completely forgotten. “Wh-why did you do that?” And why were my hands clenching his lapels?

  “Because I wanted you to stop talking for just one minute.” There was a look of astonishment and wonder in his eyes. He put a hand to my face and caressed my cheek.

  Something had gone wrong with my ears. I couldn’t quite understand what he was saying. “I didn’t—I mean—”

  “Hush. Just . . . stop.” He bent once more, and this time I stood on my toes to meet him halfway.

  I’d never imagined that a kiss could be so delectable. So sweet. I forced my hands to let go of his coat, but instead of returning to my side, they wandered up to his hair. And then around to the back of his neck. Oh my! “Charlie . . . ?”

  He stopped, pressing his forehead against mine for a moment, looking into my eyes. “If it’s all the same to you, I think it’s better if we just don’t talk.”

  “I . . . I couldn’t agree more.” I was still having trouble breathing. But for once, a Clarke had stolen something from me that I didn’t care if I ever got back.

  “Maybe if you just—” We both spoke the words at the same time. And we both had the same air of desperation. And regret.

  He gathered me fiercely into a tight embrace, and when he released me he took a step back, holding up a hand to stop me when I would have followed. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

  I was too. There was his father to think of. And my father. And—oh my goodness!—Mr. Arthur. My hands flew to my cheeks as I considered what it was that we’d just done. What I’d just done.

  There was agony and misery mixing in his eyes. “I just wish that our fathers—that you—that I—”

  I dared to look at him again, and in doing so I discovered that whatever had just happened was something I desperately wanted to happen again. I closed the distance between us and pressed a kiss to his cheek. How could it be that I had finally discovered what it was that I wanted? And that this, too, was an impossible wish? “We can’t do this, Charlie. There are too many things between us.”

  He smiled then, but it was sad and somber. As if he were saying good-bye. “Don’t worry. I hardly think a man with a pa
st like mine has a chance with a girl like you.”

  He flinched as I laid a hand on his arm, and then he backed away. When his eyes met mine again, the window to his soul had been curtained.

  38

  I settled myself into one of the plump, upholstered chairs at the club while I waited for Alfred on Thursday, but it wasn’t very comfortable. Nothing had been comfortable since I’d kissed Lucy Kendall at the ball. Alfred Arthur might be kind of stuffy, and I suspected he might be spending too much time with Evelyn, but he was the one engaged to Lucy. Not me. And no matter how I felt about her, I had no right to even think about kissing her. Even back when I’d worked for Manny, I’d never been good at stealing things. And I wasn’t about to start now.

  But really, there were some things a man just couldn’t bear. Was it my fault I thought of caramel every time I saw her? Or that she had lips that just begged to be kissed?

  I got up and grabbed at a newspaper someone had left lying around, and there was Lucy’s picture on the inside page. Why did she have to be so pretty? And so pigheaded? And why did she keep clinging to her company? Couldn’t she see that City Confectionery could never succeed? Standard was too big, and my father was too stubborn. The only move left for her was to admit defeat. If she’d just give in, then maybe we could be friends again.

  Friends—and nothing more!

  No meetings, no dances, and definitely no more kisses.

  Her picture in the newspaper seemed to turn and glare at me. I closed the paper, folded it, and tossed it onto the table bedside the chair.

  “Ah! I thought that was you.”

  I glanced up to find Alfred heading toward me.

  “I need you to come with me.”

  “Sure.” I got to my feet. We were supposed to have lunch together. And from now on, I was determined to be a better friend. The best friend a man could have. Even though he didn’t deserve the girl he was going to marry. Not with the way he’d been seeing Evelyn. But then, he hadn’t been the money boy for a man like Manny White. And he hadn’t stood by and watched while a man got murdered. He deserved Lucy more than I did.