An Inconceivable Deception

by Sydney Jane Baily

  “If he lets you give up, then he was certainly not the man for you. Besides, your strength will show when we go to this tea party.”

  “What do you mean?” Claire’s cheeks colored. “We were not invited.”

  “I mean, dear friend, that you will take a stand against Mrs. Brewster treating you disrespectfully, and I will certainly stand with you. Then, whichever way it goes, you shall have your answer. If Franklin behaves badly, by which I mean does not stick up for you, then you will know that it is best to break off any association with him. Because if that is the case, he will always be a mama’s boy and too weak for you.”

  “Oh Lord,” Claire said, perhaps not wanting to bring about such an ultimatum.

  “Agreed?” Rose plunged ahead, feeling quite happy that she could focus on helping her dearest friend rather than dwelling on her own miserable problems. “Come, say you will step up as a true Appleton and stop this hand-wringing nonsense.”

  “Well . . .,” Claire hesitated.

  “What do your parents say about this? Do they like Franklin?”

  Claire shrugged. “I don’t speak to them about such things. I don’t have a close relationship to my mother as you do yours. You know that. And neither of my parents are overly concerned with when or if Robert or I ever marry anyone.”

  Unfortunately, Rose knew Claire was right. Certainly, Mr. Appleton was not about to step in and ask Franklin’s intentions, and her mother had no reason to form an attachment to Mrs. Brewster nor see if she could pave the way clear for her only daughter. They were the type of people who should never have had children, Rose thought unkindly, or at least not sensitive ones such as Robert and Claire. Perhaps she would speak with Reed on Claire’s behalf and see what he could do.

  “As soon as we see which way the wind is blowing — if it is an ill-wind — then I shall find you a more suitable beau by next month. I promise you.” Moreover, she meant it. Claire was lovely and smart, and Rose could think of at least three young men whom she’d seen watching her friend intently. More than one of them would be happy if Franklin stepped aside.

  Claire issued another large sigh.

  “I don’t want another one. Even with his awful, scaly dragon of a mother, I love him.”

  Franklin was good-looking and tall and could carry on a conversation. What’s more, he had a good living and a lovely home that he would inherit. She could see why Claire fancied him.

  “Nevertheless, this is not to be borne. I believe he has had enough time to be a bachelor and I also think his mother has had quite enough say in the affairs of his heart. We do this and we take a stand, or I fear you will be a doormat to these people forever.”

  “A doormat! Gracious.” Claire did not look pleased at the characterization.

  Rose was glad to have her friend’s full attention. “When is this gathering?”

  “Next Wednesday, at eleven.”

  “Come hell or high water,” Rose declared as Claire gasped at the wording, “we shall be there next Wednesday promptly at 10:50 to partake of Mrs. Brewster’s tea. After all, your beau practically invited you.”

  However, it was neither hell nor high water that Rose encountered next, but the rather irate visage of her eldest sister.

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The sharp tap on her bedroom door in the early evening had not given Rose any indication of who was on the other side. If she’d known Elise was going to march into the room as soon as she opened the door and demand an answer to such a vague question, she might hidden under her four-poster bed or have feigned absence entirely.

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  “Tell you what?” Rose let the myriad of things she had not disclosed rattle around in her brain for a moment.

  “That Mama was getting married.”

  “Oh that.” Rose actually breathed a sigh of relief. That was something she could actually discuss.

  “Yes, of course, that! What else could be so important? You must have had a clue, living under the same roof. Did Mr. Nickerson come here often?”

  Rose shrugged. “I suppose he did. However, I didn’t know about the intended marriage either until this morning.

  “How romantic,” Elise murmured and sat down unasked on her sister’s bed. “And how fitting.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Elise tilted her head, offering a lopsided smile. “With my slightly odd path to love and marriage, blackmail included, and Sophie falling for an engaged man and let’s not forget Reed going all the way to Colorado to capture Charlotte’s heart and then having to rescue her from that madman. Given all of our untraditional courtings and alliances, Mama finding love and hiding it from us for years . . .,” she trailed off. “Why are you looking like that?”

  Rose swallowed and tried to relax her face.

  “Like what?” Belatedly, she realized that her eyes had widened and her mouth had grown slack. Was every Malloy destined to some dramatic romantic adventure? Moreover, was she following in her mother’s footsteps, or rather was her mother following in hers?

  “How did you find out?” Rose asked her.

  “Mama used the telephone,” Elise said and paused, giving Rose time to consider.

  Their mother never used the “infernal device,” as Evelyn referred to it after Reed had paid richly to install them in all their homes. His intent was to ensure his sisters and their mother could always reach him as well as each other.

  “Yes!” Elise confirmed when Rose exclaimed in wonder. “Mama was quite concerned that you would blab about her engagement before the rest of the family knew, and that we would feel slighted or deceived somehow. She decided the telephone’s expediency was suddenly a useful thing after all. When I picked up, I heard her saying, ‘Clear the line, will you please clear the line?’ She was very imperial sounding.”

  “How unlike her,” Rose said, feeling rather miffed that her mother thought she would gossip — though in truth, she would have told Claire immediately if her friend hadn’t been so upset.

  “In any case,” Elise continued, “she called me and Reed and sent a telegraph to Sophie.”

  Rose sat beside her sister. “So what do you think about Mama and Mr. Nickerson?”

  “I was a tad shocked at first, to tell you the truth. I suppose I’m simply used to Mama being alone. Still, I think it quite wonderful to have a colt’s tooth and want to live a fuller life at her age.”

  “Yes, me, too. I’m very relieved that she’ll have a companion.”

  “And not some stuffy old matronly companion either but a man! A quite lively one at that, if their behavior at the last dance was any indication.”

  How had Rose missed that?

  With Elise being so accepting of new attachments, was this the time to mention Finn?

  She squashed the notion at once. If only she could. With the mysterious threats and with William still not knowing about Finn, Rose couldn’t say anything. How convenient it would be if she could travel back to her younger self and tell her to open her heart to her family. If Rose had told her family about her love for Finn, they would have supported her when he seemed to have died and rejoiced with her upon his incredible return.

  No doubt, if her entire family had known of their marriage, if she had let that happen, then he would have hurried back immediately to Boston to claim her.

  In that case, though, she would have missed out on meeting William, a notion that saddened her to even consider. She could not regret the love that had bloomed between them, nor all the special things they shared.

  “Rose,” Elise’s voice called her back to the present. “Are you crying?”

  Dear God, was she? Yes. She felt the moisture on her cheeks. How could she explain to Elise that thinking of her youthful love with Finn and her more mature love with William had evoked such intense sadness?

  “Are you all right?”

  “Mama’s new start has made me nostalgic, I suppose,”
Rose hedged.

  “Quite so,” Elise agreed and patted her arm. “Anyway, I must be off home or Michael will think I’ve run away.”

  “As if,” Rose said, knowing her sister was as besotted with the handsome banker as the day they’d married.

  Elise sighed. “I could never leave him because I cannot imagine my life without his lovely smile.” A warm reddish tinge crept across her cheeks. “Still, I am allowed to imagine a day without supervising our household and our children and the two cats and the parakeet. Can’t I?”

  Both sisters laughed.

  ***

  Finn had never been the naïve or romantic sort, at least not until the day he’d met Rose Malloy. Yet going to Hull Street in the North End, within spitting distance of the Old North Church, and expecting to find Liam the same as he had been nearly four years before was most likely a naïve fool’s errand.

  Finn entered the same black door and flat lintel that still looked out of place next to the graceful arches over the other front doors. He went inside to the same hallway with its scuffed wooden floor, and knocked on the last door on the left.

  A dark-haired woman with a child in her arms answered after a few moments. She didn’t smile or even offer a greeting, merely stared at him challengingly while holding her young boy in her arms as a shield.

  “I’m looking for Liam Berne,” Finn said.

  Her face relaxed instantly.

  With a thick Italian accent, she answered him, “Sweet Mother Mary, I thought you were here for the rent.”

  “No, I—”

  “Liam Berne,” she spat the words. “I know him. Or used to.” She glanced down at the child and Finn realized that the boy was not a wee toddler as he’d thought by his size. More likely a lad of about four or five, underfed and stunted.

  The boys’ dark eyes were those of his mother, not the pale brown that he remembered from Liam. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off him. What if he’d given in to Rose that last night they were together? What if he’d left her with his child growing inside her? He would not have known for months until he reached England and then not until he wrote to her and she to him. He would have come home immediately to a family of his own instead of years later to an estranged wife beginning a life with another man. She would have had to tell her mother and her siblings, and then . . .

  “If you see him,” the woman interrupted his thoughts, “tell him a little of his gullyfluff — you know, his pocket change — would go a long way to feeding his son.”

  Finn nodded. He definitely would tell him. “Do you know where I can find him?”

  “Doesn’t he still work at the shipyard?” she asked, then let the boy slide down her hip, until he stood beside her, keeping hold of her skirts with his small hands.

  Finn smiled at the lad, then regarded his mother. “I think so, but I don’t know for certain.”

  She tossed her head. “Is he too high and mighty for that now?”

  Liam, high and mighty? “I don’t understand what you mean?”

  “With all his money and his fine house, does he still work at all?”

  Finn tried to understand what she was saying. Had Liam changed professions or come into some money? “Can you tell me where he lives?”

  “Not around here, that’s for sure.” She paused. “Are you his friend?”

  “I used to be.”

  She nodded, then gave him a curious, interested look. “Do you have any money?”

  He nearly laughed but the idea that she might beg a stranger kept him quite sober.

  “Not much.” Though the savings of a shipbuilder who’d spent as much time as he could spare away from his studies to earn a decent living, she would probably consider quite a significant sum. He was trying to spend as little as possible of those savings since disembarking in the States, with the uncertainty of when he would begin to earn again.

  The woman shrugged, making a slight moue of dismissal.

  “Liam lives in the Back Bay on Marlborough Street. Number 397.” She stepped back, already turning away. Then she glanced at Finn once more.

  “If you see him, tell him grazie molto poco from Tessa.”

  With that, she tugged the little boy inside and slammed the door.

  Jesus! Marlborough Street in the Back Bay. How in the hell did Liam get a house there? And if he was doing so bloody well, why wasn’t he feeding his son? He’d hoped to find Liam at the yard when he had gone to see the owner, but then he’d been given the bum’s rush and told to leave in no uncertain terms. He didn’t even know if Liam worked there anymore.

  Luckily, with nothing else to do with his time, he could go find his old friend. For 5 cents a ride, it took only three electric trolley cars for him to get to the corner of Commonwealth and Hereford Streets. After a two-block walk, he found himself on relatively quiet Marlborough staring at what could not possibly be Liam’s home. Could it?

  Finn whistled sharply. What in the hell? There was nothing modest about this four-story brick dwelling with its lavish miniature front garden behind a wrought iron fence. The arched doorway with a brightly polished knocker awaited.

  He took the five shallow steps and knocked, not sure what to expect. A young woman came to the door, dressed in the plain black gown and pinned white apron of a maid.

  “Yes?” she asked quite neutrally, though she did take a sweeping look at him from his dusty shoes up his worn pants to his shabby jacket. Recognition that they were equals flashed in her eyes.

  A lance of regret pierced him. Instead of worrying for the future, perhaps he should have spent a little of his hard-earned money to spruce himself up. No doubt Rose looked at him as a failure, too.

  With shame clogging his throat, he asked, “Is this the residence of Liam Berne?”

  “It is,” she answered. “Who wants to know? The tradesman’s entrance is around back, if you’re here to do work.”

  Finn could not help frowning. Liam with his own tradesman’s entrance!

  “Well,” he didn’t want to embarrass the girl, but enough was enough. “I’m not actually here to do any work for Mr. Berne. We’re old friends.”

  Her look was still doubtful, but she said, “I see, sir, my apologies. If you want to come in and wait a moment, I’ll see if he is at liberty to visit with you.”

  She stepped back and held the door open wide. After he entered, she secured it behind him before leading the way down the hall to the first door on the right.

  “You can wait in here,” she offered.

  Finn entered a room that was exactly as he expected it would be in this part of Back Bay. Polished wood floors barely visible around the edges of a thick wool carpet. White trim, painted walls, velvet furniture with dark scrolled legs that looked freshly waxed, high ceilings, and a good-sized fireplace, which today was not lit since the weather was fine.

  He definitely did not want to sit on the tufted sofa after having his bum on the trolley cars.

  “Would you give me your name, sir?”

  He turned, having forgotten for a moment why he was there.

  “Phineas Bennet.”

  She turned on her heel. He heard her leather soles trip quickly up the stairs and then, a short while later, what sounded like furniture crashing onto the floor. Heavier feet pounded across the landing upstairs and down the stairs. Liam burst into the room.

  He stopped a foot inside his parlor and stared.

  “Fuck,” he said and slowly shook his head. “It is you, isn’t it?”

  Liam appeared the same — except completely different in fine clothing and boots that looked to be the best money could buy. He’d always complained about his feet hurting. They couldn’t possibly hurt anymore.

  “Aye,” Finn answered, “but is that you?”

  Liam narrowed his eyes. “How is this possible? How can Finn Bennet be standing in my home four years after he died?”

  “How can you be a rich man on Marlborough Street only four years after I left you as a lowly whittler? Now that
’s a tale I’d like to hear.”

  Liam hesitated, then his face split into a grin and he stuck his hand out. Finn took it and they pumped their arms up and down vigorously. For the first time since leaving his father’s home in Portland, Finn felt welcome.

  “Will you sit?” Liam asked before pressing a button on the wall.

  Finn gestured to his clothing. “I would hate to ruin your sofa fabric.”

  “Nonsense,” Liam said and took a seat, gesturing for Finn to sit down, too.

  Taking a seat on the opposite side of the fireplace, Finn shook his head. “You really have landed in it, haven’t you?”

  Before Liam could answer, the same maid who’d shown him inside stepped quickly into the room.

  “Madeira,” was all Liam said to her, and once again, she vanished.

  Finn smiled again. They’d never drank anything except ale.

  “So are you going to tell me how this is possible?” He gestured at the lavish surroundings.

  “I will, I will.” Liam cocked his head. “If you tell me how you’re not a ghost. I still can’t believe I’m looking at you. After the sinking, I remembered thinking, Damn, I told the unlucky blighter not to sail. If you’d only listened to me.”

  Another servant, a slightly older woman, brought in a tray with a decanter full of luscious red wine and two crystal goblets. She set this on the table between the men.

  “Shall I pour, sir?”

  “No, I will,” Liam said, not looking at her.

  Still, she stood waiting.

  “Thank you,” Finn said.

  Liam burst out laughing. “She’s not waiting for you to thank her for doing her job. She’s waiting for me to dismiss her.”

  Finn felt himself redden. He was perfectly happy to thank anyone who waited on him or showed him kindness, and he wasn’t too keen on someone who didn’t. He wondered how Rose treated her servants, as they’d never been together in such a situation. Just as quickly, he decided she must be as kind to them as she’d been to him.

  “You can go,” Liam told the woman.

  She nodded and nearly made it to the door when Liam said, “Wait.” Then he turned to Finn. “Will you stay for dinner?”