Love on Assignment
Page 7
Charlotte shivered in the hot semidarkness, but she pushed onward. Brushing dust off old boxes and trunks, she coughed and sneezed and sent mice scurrying across the attic floorboards. She again rummaged through the trunk with the old doll, but no old letters turned up as she hoped. Quite disappointing. Cobwebs stuck to her disheveled hair and apron.
She closed the attic door and ran smack into Simone.
“Excuse me,” Charlotte muttered.
“What are you doing in the attic? You job is to mind the children.”
Charlotte paused. “Yesterday Ruthie and I found an old doll tucked away in a trunk, and I thought she might like to play with it. But on second look I realized the doll was too shabby.” Charlotte flinched at the lie that came so easily to her lips. Would this assignment change her into a woman she could never again respect?
Simone shook her finger. “You must stay out of places where you have no business. The attic is a storage area for junk the professor can’t bear to dispose of, nothing more.”
Charlotte nodded, feeling duly reprimanded once again. “Yes, of course.”
Simone surveyed her with obvious disgust. “You’re covered in dust. Go change your clothing so you don’t disgrace the family.”
Once in her room Charlotte brushed and re-pinned her hair then beat the dust off her skirt. She hurried downstairs, still smarting from Simone’s rebuke. Mr. Phifer felt sure she’d ferret out information in his campaign to ruin his adversary. She’d examined most every nook and cranny in the household, but she hadn’t uncovered even one shred of evidence against the professor. If such discrediting data existed, it was probably in the professor’s college office, a place she’d never be able to search. Only his wife’s chronicle brought her a glimmer of hope.
If she failed at her once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, she’d never receive another chance. Mr. Phifer would see to that. But she couldn’t conjure up facts that didn’t exist, could she?
Unfortunately, her boss demanded results, not excuses.
THAT AFTERNOON, AFTER returning from the college, Daniel accepted his bowler and umbrella from Mr. Grimes and waited for the butler to open the front door.
“Papa, where are you going?” Ruthie called.
Daniel turned around as she clattered down the staircase with Tim at her heels. Their governess followed close behind.
“I’m off to buy your grandmother a welcome home present.”
“May we come too?” Ruthie pouted her plea, but her eyes shone with mischief.
If the children accompanied him, the short trip would take twice as long since Tim couldn’t resist begging for the overpriced toys on display in the shop windows.
“I’m afraid I’m in a hurry. I have to finish my column this afternoon. Perhaps another time.” He flashed an apologetic smile that he hoped would end the conversation.
“Please, Papa.” Ruthie clasped her hands at her chest in such a sweet and childish manner that he weakened and had to reconsider.
He glanced toward Miss Hale. “Would you mind coming along?”
“I’d be glad to, Professor.”
“Yes, Papa, please.” Ruthie reached for her straw boater dangling from the foyer hat rack and plopped it on her head. Miss Hale came forward, straightened the tilted hat, and retied the sash on his daughter’s dress.
So the decision was made for him. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “All right, you win. But we must be quick about it and not waste time.”
They hastened outside and all piled into the surrey bound for Bellevue Avenue. As he grasped the reins, Miss Hale helped the children into the backseat. When she slid onto the tan leather seat beside him, his heart inexplicably jumped. Glancing sideways, he noticed her perfect profile, creamy complexion, and long, slender neck rising above the plain white collar of her black uniform. Her shiny hair framed her face and disappeared beneath the crown of her straw hat. She was far lovelier than the beauties of Newport who sported Worth gowns and extravagant jewels. He dragged his attention away before he steered the horses off the winding road.
The matched pair trotted around the Ocean Drive and up Bellevue Avenue past magnificent summer cottages secluded behind hedges or high stone walls. Daniel seldom rode down millionaires’ row, socialized with the other cottagers, or shopped at the exclusive stores. His life revolved around Aquidneck College and Summerhill, though his mother often entertained friends from the highest social circle and tried her hardest to include him in her activities.
The air weighed heavy with dampness and wilted his starched white shirt. He noted the gunmetal gray sky punctuated with thunderclouds. If he didn’t rush they’d get caught in the rain. The horses picked up their pace as they drew closer to the small shopping area. Breathing in Miss Hale’s light floral scent, Daniel fought the urge to move closer to her on the front seat. He gave his head a slight shake to release such an unexpected and unwelcome impulse.
He halted the carriage by the shingled-style Newport Casino. This was the club where the nation’s richest set gathered to play tennis, view plays, dance, and impress one another. Branch stores from New York’s finest shops and boutiques fronted the Casino on the wide Bellevue Avenue sidewalk. On occasion, he watched a tennis match or a play in the small theatre, but usually his work kept him too busy to indulge in idle entertainment.
Daniel stepped down from the carriage, glad to be released from Miss Hale’s odd effect. Several other equipages with coachmen garbed in top hats and impeccable livery lined the street as their employers enjoyed leisure time and vast fortunes.
“Shall I help you choose a gift for Grandmother?” Ruthie asked as she climbed down. “A bracelet or necklace might be nice.”
Daniel chuckled then patted his daughter on her auburn head. “A pair of kid gloves is more like it.”
“But gloves are so boring. How about a book? I love stories,” Ruthie said. “And a ring also. She adores sapphires. They’re her birthstone.”
Tim peered in the window of a bakery. “How about an éclair while you decide? Maybe we could buy a dozen and save one for Grandmother.”
Daniel noted the tempting confections and couldn’t resist either. “I’ll buy each of us a treat before we leave, but you know your grandmother doesn’t have a sweet tooth except for bon bons and—”
“Oatmeal raisin cookies,” Ruthie finished.
They mingled with the fashionably dressed ladies who swept down the sidewalk and wove in and out of the shops like a school of fish. Then Daniel spotted his old suite mate from Yale pushing a pram with a lovely young woman Daniel assumed was his wife.
“Jackson Grail. How are you?” he called as the trio approached.
His friend halted and shook Daniel’s outstretched hand. Tall, black haired, and looking prosperous in a well-tailored suit, Jack was not the poor but brilliant scholarship student Daniel remembered from Yale. In college he wore threadbare trousers and patched jackets that singled him out among the sons of privilege.
“Good to see you. The last I heard you were mining for gold in the Klondike and finding it by the ton.”
Jack let out a hearty laugh. “I came back to New York more than a year ago, married Miss Lillian Westbrook, George’s sister. As you can see, we now have a baby son named Thomas Jackson Grail. Daniel, I’d like to present my wife, Lilly.”
Daniel bowed to the tall young woman with a warm smile. Jack had done well for himself. A lovely wife, an infant son. The look of joy tempered by contentment shown on Jack’s face. For a long moment Daniel felt a pang of envy.
“It’s a pleasure to meet a friend of Jack’s. And the owner of the lovely Summerhill,” Lilly said, sending a small smile toward her husband. “We have such fond memories of renting your fine home.” She turned toward Charlotte. “And you must be . . .”
“Miss Hale, our new governess,” Daniel said before she asked if Charlotte Hale was his wife. Even in her plain clothing Miss Hale didn’t resemble a matronly governess most might expect him to hire.
“How do y
ou do, Mrs. Grail?”
Lilly looked to the storefronts. “While the gentlemen talk, why don’t we glance in the window of the millinery shop? That hat catches my eye.” So the two women and Ruthie strolled over to the shop to critique the outlandish headgear. Tim discovered a wooden train set beckoning from another store close by.
Daniel and Jack sidestepped a pair of silver-haired matrons and tipped their hats.
“I’m a publisher now,” Jack said. “I bought Jones and Jarman along with a small New York newspaper and magazine. We struggled last summer, but business has steadily improved.”
“I’m pleased to hear of your success.” Daniel leaned against the window of the Newport branch of Tiffany’s. The edges of its striped awning beat back and forth in the increasing breeze.
He glanced toward Jack’s tall, slender wife who vaguely resembled her brother, George, another college classmate. But apparently Lilly received the best of the family’s good looks. “I understand your wife is the authoress Fannie Cole.”
Through Mrs. Finnegan’s connections with other Newport servants, he’d learned the new Mrs. Grail had created a tempest-in-a-teapot among their social circle by penning romance dime novels some mistakenly considered scandalous. Actually, her books extolled the highest Christian virtues and encouraged readers to avoid the temptations of the world. During the past year his mother had read a few Fannie Cole novels and she’d come to appreciate them. From the happy appearance of the couple, they’d weathered the publicity well.
“She is indeed Fannie Cole.” Pride shone in Jack’s dark eyes.
“Congratulations on your marriage, Jack. I’m very happy for you.”
Jack nodded contentedly. “I’m truly blessed.”
“I believe I shall purchase one of her novels for my mother. She and my housekeeper both enjoy Fannie Cole books. They speak highly of her writing.” So a novel, along with gloves and roses from the garden might warm his mother’s heart. And maybe a small sapphire pin.
“I’m sure Lilly would be happy to sign it for her.”
“Wonderful. How long are you here in Newport?”
“We just arrived yesterday for a short vacation,” Jack said. “We’re staying at the Coastal Inn for two weeks, then it’s back to New York. I can’t neglect my businesses for long.”
Daniel nodded. “I understand.” They moved away from the crowd.
“Did you know I visited Lilly’s family at Summerhill last July? That’s where we became engaged and married.” Jack’s grin
spread from one corner of his face to the other. “As she mentioned, we both have fond memories of the cottage.”
Daniel had rented Summerhill to the Westbrooks the previous summer when he’d traveled to Europe with his mother and children. “It’s a wonderful place to spend the summer.” Though expensive to maintain for a professor with only a small salary and an even smaller inheritance.
Jack’s voice softened. “I was so sorry to hear your wife passed away, Daniel.”
Daniel nodded. “Yes, Sarah’s death was a terrible blow to my whole family, but we’re muddling through, thanks to my mother and now a new governess.”
Jack’s glance strayed toward Miss Hale who was pointing out a hat displayed in the shop window to Ruthie and Lilly Grail. Daniel grinned. The hat boasted more feathers than a peacock and was just as colorful. He thought it suited Miss Hale’s cheerful personality to a T. But even if she could afford it, he doubted she’d wear something so gaudy.
“Your governess seems to enjoy the children.” Jack lifted an eyebrow. Curiosity shined in his eyes.
Daniel wondered why, though he felt his face flush. “She’s a very agreeable young woman. I was fortunate to hire her.”
Jack’s gaze returned to Daniel. His old friend didn’t pry, though from his quizzical look, he clearly wanted to. Daniel sighed inwardly. Why was Jack reading something into mere—interest? He found Miss Hale easy to talk to about the children, nothing more.
“Let me congratulate you on your religion column, Daniel. I subscribe to the Newport Gazette and look forward to reading your views each week. Your opponents are buzzing like a hive of hornets. They’re a greedy bunch more interested in profits than their workers.” Jack chuckled. “Keep up the good work.” He lightly slapped Daniel on the back.
“Thank you. I intend to continue my ministry.”
“Good for you.” Jack cocked his head. “Perhaps you’d like to write for the Manhattan Sentinel as well. Would you consider it?”
Taken by surprise, Daniel hesitated. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll certainly keep it in mind, though at the moment I’m doing as much as I can handle.”
Promising to spend more time with Ruthie and Tim precluded adding another newspaper column to his work schedule. But writing was his favorite ministry, even more than teaching students, many of whom were disinterested in learning more than the minimum necessary for a passing grade. Still, the Lord called him to write and instruct, so he’d do both. Maybe accepting Jack’s offer was part of God’s plan. He’d give it serious thought.
“Perhaps you can join us for dinner at Summerhill and we can talk it over,” Jack suggested. “Can you come sometime next week?”
“We’d be delighted.”
They set a date. “I’ll look forward to it,” Daniel said.
SIX
On the trip back to Summerhill, a stiff breeze gusted across the rocks and whipped around Charlotte’s shoulders. She pulled her shawl tighter.
A crash of thunder drowned out the low whistle of the wind. Sheets of rain pelted down from a blackened sky in large, cold drops. The surrey’s roof offered little protection from the streaming torrents. Charlotte angled her hat to keep the water out of her eyes and face. She glanced back at Tim and Ruthie. The girl’s yellow pique dress was too light to keep her warm. Charlotte whipped off her knitted shawl and handed it to Ruthie who rewarded her with a big grin and a thank-you. The children huddled inside the shawl’s soft folds. Professor Wilmont shed his navy blue jacket and flung it around Charlotte shoulders.
“Wear it,” he insisted.
Too wet and miserable to object to his chivalry, Charlotte slid into the coat. He handed her his umbrella, and she popped it open and raised it above both their heads, forcing them terribly near. Charlotte inadvertently shivered. As they rounded a curve in the road, he leaned into her. When his shirt brushed against her arm, Charlotte felt a small jolt of pleasure.
It reminded her of what she’d once felt for Paul Seaton— before he left her for a woman without encumbrances. She never wanted to feel that way again, especially about a man she had to discredit. She’d taken great care to never let her heart weaken again—not that there was any real danger of her succumbing to the frivolities of romance. She tilted her head toward the edge of the umbrella, as far from the professor as she could possibly get. The idea that a scion of a rich family would ever fall for her, a lowly secretary and townie, made her smile at herself. Perhaps I should be a fiction writer like Fannie Cole rather than an aspiring journalist.
When they arrived at Summerhill, the professor said, “Let’s all change into dry clothes and meet in the library for a story and perhaps some hot chocolate.”
“Yes, Papa!” Tim called as he dashed up the stairs two at a time.
Ten minutes later all four crowded on the soft leather sofa near the fireplace and watched the flames blaze and the wood crackle. In a dramatic voice the professor read The Legend of Sleepy Hollow until the children’s piano teacher arrived half an hour later. The two finished the last sips of their hot chocolate and left the library, dragging their feet across the Oriental carpet.
From the doorway, Tim asked, “Must we go, Papa?”
“Yes. Please don’t keep your teacher waiting.”
“Tim doesn’t seem to enjoy playing the piano,” Charlotte said, after the children were out of earshot.
The professor’s eyebrows furrowed. “Perhaps not. Yet music lessons are worthwhile.”
“So you believe I ought to allow Tim to quit his lessons?”
“Maybe he’d prefer some other instrument. Or perhaps he’d rather listen to music than make it.”
“I shall mull it over, Miss Hale. Thank you for your advice.” His blue-green eyes sparkled. But he looked more amused than grateful.
Eager to change the subject, Charlotte said, “The children were so engrossed in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Do you read to them often?”
Professor Wilmont shook his head. “Not often enough, I’m afraid. I’m normally too busy, but I suppose that’s an excuse, not a reason.”
“My parents read to my brother and sister and me every night before bedtime. We couldn’t afford many books, but we treasured the ones we had. I miss those happy times. They ended all too soon.”
“I’m so sorry. May I ask, did your parents pass away when you were young?” He folded his long, slender hands on his lap.
“Yes, they did. I was only twelve. My brother too. Influenza.”
“That must have been very hard.”
“It was and it still is. The pain doesn’t quite go away, even after ten years.”
“How are you and your sister doing now?”
She smiled. “Becky and I live with our dear Aunt Amelia. We have food and clothes and a roof over our heads, although it’s not paid for yet. Aside from that problem, I have no reason to complain. What more could I want?”
“Nothing, I suppose.” He glanced around the enormous library with richly paneled walls, floor to ceiling books, and alabaster busts on marble tables.
Charlotte grinned. “Well, of course I could wish for more. I live in a tiny house with the bare necessities. But it’s sufficient. Sometimes I’d like a few luxuries, but they’re not necessary for my happiness. I always search for the positive in every situation.” Though the entire length of the sofa separated them, their gazes drew them close. A jolt of fear ran through her. “Sir, I—I’m not minimizing the beauty of Summerhill. It’s the most impressive house I’ve ever been in. But I’m content to live without the elegance and wealth I shall never have.”