An Inconceivable Deception

by Sydney Jane Baily

  Finn thought about it. What else did he have to do? Even though he might wish to be sitting with his old friend in a home-style Italian café in the North End — and even though something about this new wealthy Liam might rub him slightly the wrong way — a meal together would set things to right, he was sure. He nodded.

  “Set another place,” Liam told the woman, and she exited with the slightest nod of her head.

  Liam leaned forward and poured a generous amount of the heady red wine into both glasses. He held one out to Finn.

  “To being alive,” he said.

  Finn nodded and took a sip. It was sweet and nutty and fruity all at once. For some reason, it reminded him of Rose, and he had a feeling she would enjoy it.

  “So tell me,” Liam said, “and don’t leave anything out.”

  Finn did as he was instructed and explained his entire adventure, leaving out only any mention of Rose, which seemed like omitting his reason for surviving. When he got to the part about thinking men were trying to kill him or at least shove him into a carriage, Liam exclaimed aloud.

  “Did you report it to the police?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why ever not? The first thing I would do is talk to the local force.”

  Finn considered. Why hadn’t he? Because he wasn’t sure what was real or whom he could trust, or even that the police wouldn’t somehow make it worse. And the more people who knew about him, the more endangered Rose might be.

  He merely shrugged. “Your turn, old friend. How did this come about?” Finn gestured his wine glass toward the opulence of the room once again.

  Liam offered a wry smile. “Investments.”

  “Really?”

  Liam took another large draught of the madeira. “Yes.”

  “In what?” Finn asked.

  Liam blinked and said, “Transportation. Railroads out west, electric trolleys on the east coast.”

  “I take it you’re not at the shipyard anymore.”

  Liam hesitated. “Strangely enough, I am.”

  Finn felt better about his friend. Many a man would give up honest work under such circumstances.

  “I don’t have the same position, though.”

  “Oh? No longer making models?”

  Liam grinned. “That’s old school, right?”

  Finn was surprised. “Yes, you’re right. Where I was, they thought that was barbaric. Engineers, architects, draftsmen, that’s the proper way. So what do you do?”

  “I’m the yard’s master builder, directing those engineers, architects, and draftsmen.”

  Finn flinched. “How is that possible?” he blurted out before he realized how rude that sounded. Yet he knew Liam’s training was basic compared to the university studies he’d undergone. Liam was more of a woodworker than anything.

  However, his friend didn’t look offended. “Yard seniority, partly. We lost some key people on the Garrard.” He paused. “Like yourself. Then some left for other yards, Goat Island is big, and there’s Brooklyn, of course, and even down to Norfolk. Gilbert left, too. He’s a consultant at the Navy shipyard in Charlestown. But I’m still at Kelly’s.”

  “So you check the plans and mark them up?”

  Liam chuckled and finished his glassful, then poured another.

  “No, I basically shuffle papers from one fellow to another and sign when necessary. Pay is decent.”

  Finn was feeling a little sour, thinking of the choices he’d made that had caused him to lose Rose and his job and have no foreseeable future in Boston. He had nothing but a degree and a six-inch scar on his leg.

  They were called in to dinner as Finn was thinking how different his life would have been if he’d let Liam remove him from the manifest as he’d offered to do. By the time he had taken a seat at Liam’s highly polished dining table, Finn realized how guilty he would have felt if he hadn’t been on board to see for himself that no one could save that ship and those men and boys. He shook his head.

  “What is it?” Liam asked, as a course of fish soup was set before them, steaming and fragrant.

  “Choices,” Finn said. “Paths we choose.”

  “I’m glad you came to see me,” Liam said, tackling his soup with gusto.

  “I went to the yard, too,” Finn told him

  Liam paused with his spoon midway between the bowl and his mouth, then he slurped his soup off the spoon and smiled broadly.

  “I’m sorry I missed your visit. I bet they were surprised to see you.”

  Finn tasted a few spoonfuls, surprised at how hungry he was.

  “Surprised is not the word. I didn’t see anyone I knew. Walsh was away from his desk, and there was a new secretary to old man Kelly, a bug-eyed fellow—”

  “Marty,” Liam said, grinning. “Good chap.”

  “I suppose,” Finn shrugged. “He took me to see Kelly, who wasn’t sure he knew me at first, then when I told him who I was and what I thought of the Garrard, he nearly took my head off with anger and said I’d never work at the yard again. Or at any local yard for that matter.”

  “What? That’s outrageous,” Liam said. “Why would he do that?”

  A servant brought in the next course, roast duckling with fingerling potatoes and carrots.

  Finn waited while she picked up the bowls and set down clean plates, looking idly at the dead duck with a measure of compassion. He, himself, had about as much prospects.

  “Because I told Kelly that the Garrard should never have sailed. The design was faulty and someone, probably Gilbert, should be held accountable.”

  Liam nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe someone already was.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His host cut up a piece of duck breast and chewed it thoughtfully. “Well, we lost Bradley and Decker. Maybe divine retribution for building a crap ship.”

  A shiver of shock ran up Finn’s spine. Those men had only followed orders and had died for it.

  “I don’t believe that.” Finn sipped at the new glass of wine set before him. “I think that someone high up should be held accountable. Don’t you? Remember how young some of the apprentices were? Just boys really.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, wishing he could erase the faces of those young ones, the fear he’d seen . . . . “You lost friends, didn’t you?”

  Liam set his fork down. “Of course, but I’m awfully glad you’re not one of them. You were my best friend at the yard.”

  Finn considered. “Maybe you can help me to get a job.”

  He watched an expression dance across Liam’s face, a quick shadow of a thought or a mood.

  “No,” Liam said. “Best you should move on. If the higher ups don’t want you, you should go elsewhere. What about Portsmouth?”

  So much for best friends. It would have been nice if Liam had offered to put in a word. However, he was probably right about higher ups. If Finn’s name was blackened by Kelly, no one would hire him in the area. However, Finn had no interest in Portsmouth. Not at that moment anyway. Not until everything was settled with Rose, one way or the other. Then, if he were going anywhere, it would be back up to Portland. They were still designing cargo vessels in the Downeaster style that a man could hold his head up high for building.

  Finn drained the glass of wine as he realized in his thoughts that he was still hoping there was a way he could hold onto Rose. Hope was a fool’s emotion.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “What about me?” Liam sounded slightly tense.

  Feeling more relaxed by the wine and warm food, Finn nearly laughed. His friend had no way of knowing that nearly every other thought in his head was of a certain lady, and thus, naturally, he wondered if Liam had a woman of his own.

  “Have you found someone with whom to share your success?” As soon as Finn said it, he recalled the woman in the North End.

  The edge left Liam’s tone when he responded. “Oh, you mean what about me and someone of the fairer sex? I’ve got my eye on one. Maybe two. And I’ve been known to esco
rt a certain well-heeled lady to the opera. Her family isn’t too keen on me, but I may change their minds yet. That is, if I feel like bothering. I’m not really ready to take a rib yet.”

  “What about Tessa?” Finn asked. He almost added, “and your son?” though that would be beyond offensive. He’d already crossed the line of propriety by bringing up the woman.

  Liam recoiled at the name. “How in the hell—?”

  “I apologize.” Finn held up his hands in . I went looking for you at your old digs and met her.”

  “I see.” Liam nodded. “She’s a bit rough, don’t you think?”

  Finn thought about it. “She had a pretty face. She sent you a message by the way.”

  “Oh?” Liam looked unconcerned as he sipped his wine. “What did she have to say?”

  “Really? Do you want to know?”

  “I do.” Jokingly, Liam braced himself against the arms of his chair as if against a nor’easter.

  “She said that she needs money for her boy.”

  Liam blanched, his face at once losing all traces of humor. “I don’t even know if he’s mine,” he blurted out. “You saw him. He looks just like her and no one else.”

  “So you could be the father?”

  “I suppose,” Liam allowed, shoveling a candied carrot into his mouth.

  “He looked hungry. They both did,” Finn persisted.

  “Well, damn,” Liam said, dropping his fork. “How am I supposed to enjoy my meal now?”

  Finn chuckled. “You’re not. You’re supposed to high-tail it over there tomorrow and give them some money, which you plainly have and they don’t.”

  “Damn,” Liam repeated.

  “The boy could be yours. They could live here with you.”

  “Not a chance in hell, mate. She might’ve been with every bloke on Hull Street, and that guttersnipe could be any of theirs, too.”

  Finn tried again.

  “Still, it wouldn’t hurt you to give them some money, would it? If the father is a resident of the North End, it’s doubtful the man will have a cent to spare. Not like you.”

  Liam sighed. “You’re right.” He started eating again. “It’s no fat off my bacon if I give them a few dollars.”

  Suddenly, the rest of Finn’s meal tasted like sawdust. He’d hoped Liam would be a little more magnanimous, but at least Tessa and her son would get something — if Liam was as good as his word.

  In any case, Finn had his own problems to deal with. “I guess I’d best be going.”

  Liam shook his head. “No, no, hold on, none of that. Don’t go getting all morose on me. You are alive, Finn Bennet, and that’s the best thing in the world. Let’s figure out what you’re going to do next, right? Obviously, you can’t stay here in Boston if you can’t work at the yard.”

  Finn was taken aback. Was Liam still set on pushing him out of the city, and after only just discovering that he was alive?

  “If not Portsmouth, how about going into the transportation industry?” Liam continued. “I tell you, it’s still a boom.”

  “I’m a shipbuilder,” Finn said, unable to keep the firmness out of his voice as well as a strain of bitterness. “Besides, I want to see justice for those who died. Don’t you?”

  “Of course. If there are men left alive who didn’t sink with the ship who are to blame in any way, then yes, they should be held accountable.”

  Finn laid down his napkin and stood. “We won’t be solving my work problems tonight, so I’ll be going.”

  Liam stood up, too. “I insist you spend the night. Where are you staying anyway? At your old rooming house on Bowdoin Square?”

  “No, it was full up.” Plus the memories of Rose in his arms there would have been torture. “I have a room above an old friend’s business.”

  “Where?” Liam smiled. “In case I need to reach you before I hear from you again.”

  “I’m above The Restaurant Parisien.”

  Liam looked surprised. “Great food. So you know Chef Louis?”

  Finn nodded.

  “Anyway,” Liam continued. “Stay here tonight, and we can put our heads together in the morning on what to do next. I know a lawyer, if that helps.”

  Considering he’d never needed the services of one before, it seemed quite odd that he might have two handling his business, one for a divorce and one to sue on behalf of the men and boys who died on the Garrard.

  Finn declined. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it stung too badly to think how Liam had stayed behind and made his fortune and even worked at the very yard at which Finn couldn’t get employment.

  If he’d stayed behind, would he own a house such as Liam’s in the Back Bay and have Rose in his bed?

  He didn’t know. He also didn’t know why something about Liam had made him uneasy.

  Returning to The Parisien, Finn considered his own constant anxiety. Was it paranoia? Madness? Rose’s sweet face materialized like a vision before his tired eyes. Even if he could win her back from the seemingly perfect Woodsom, he shouldn’t try. Not if he loved her. Not if he wanted what was best for her — a luxurious life with an entirely sane and whole husband.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rose looked up from perusing the late afternoon’s newspapers with her mother to see Charlotte entering the parlor.

  “Good day, Evelyn, Rose,” Charlotte greeted them. “You’re both looking well.”

  “There’s my favorite daughter-in-law,” Evelyn remarked mischievously, since she only had one son. Still, they all chuckled. “Come, have some tea with us.” She glanced at the clock on the mantle. “Or maybe something stronger? A little sherry?”

  Evelyn went toward the button that would ring the bell in the kitchen summoning their cook. Emily was no doubt reading the penny paper, as was her custom at that time of day, and drinking coffee.

  “Oh, I don’t want to intrude,” Charlotte protested. “I had hoped to have a word with Rose though.”

  Evelyn paused, her finger hovering next to the call button mounted on the wall covered in a cheerful flower-embellished wallpaper.

  “Is anything the matter?” She looked between Charlotte and Rose.

  Charlotte smiled. “Your expression so resembles Reed’s whenever Rose’s name is mentioned. Do you both jump to the same awful conclusions?”

  “I’m afraid they do,” Rose said.

  Evelyn smiled slightly. “You know our Rose.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I do indeed. However, there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

  Rose hoped not. How long would her mother linger before Charlotte could tell her anything important?

  Her sister-in-law took a seat. “I have a question about the wedding, a small detail.”

  How kind of Charlotte not to break her confidence nor worry Evelyn Malloy with talk of nefarious dealings from the long-ago past.

  Besides, maybe there were no nefarious dealings after all and Charlotte would tell her such.

  “We’ll have tea anyway,” Evelyn said, finally pressing the button, “and then I must get to my ladies’ gardening meeting. I’m sure you and Rose can work out anything after that. If she lets you guide her.

  Guide her, indeed! Would the family always think of her as the five-year-old who managed to climb onto the roof’s eave and get stuck until her father rescued her? Or the twelve-year-old who remained on a train to Baltimore after the rest of her siblings had disembarked. When her mother found out about Finn, which eventually she would, Rose would most likely be marked as interminably and incorrigibly flighty.

  After the maid arrived with the tea tray and they all had a cup and a biscuit in front of them, Charlotte eyed Rose, who felt as though her skin would burst if she didn’t soon find out what Charlotte had discovered, if anything.

  “I can’t believe my last one will soon be married, but it is due time,” Evelyn said.

  Charlotte gave her a warm smile. “I for one greatly missed the lighthearted girl I met when I first moved to Boston. She seemed to
disappear overnight to be replaced by a quite serious and solemn young woman. Lately, with Mr. Woodsom, however, it seems we have her back again.”

  “True,” Evelyn agreed. “He has been good for our Rose.”

  “You are both speaking as if I am not in the room,” Rose reminded them.

  “That’s because we speak only truths that we don’t mind you hearing,” Charlotte assured her. She focused on her mother-in-law. “If I am not speaking out of turn, I am happy as a rattlesnake in a mouse hole at hearing your good news.”

  “A rattlesnake?” Evelyn repeated.

  Charlotte cleared her throat. “That is to say, I’m very pleased that you have found a companion once more.”

  “Oh, you are referring to Mr. Nickerson,” Evelyn said, and Rose detected a soft blush upon her mother’s cheeks. How sweet. “I have known him for a number of years,” she explained, “and believe we still have a few good ones left to spend in each other’s company — a little closer company than we have enjoyed as yet.”

  Rose choked on her tea. Had her mother just referred to the marital bed and sharing it with Ethan Nickerson? She was still coughing when Charlotte leaned over and thumped her twice on the back.

  “Thank you,” Rose managed. Then to change the topic, she drew their attention to the most exciting news she’d seen in ages, “Clara Barton is coming back to Boston. She’ll give a talk at Harvard in two weeks.”

  Both the others perked up. “I would love to go,” Charlotte said.

  “As would I.” Evelyn paused. “I’ll purchase tickets for the three of us and invite Elise as well.”

  “And Claire too, please, Mama,” Rose requested, though her friend wasn’t always so patient for lectures. She’d heard that Miss. Barton’s stories of the war brought even grown men to tears. How thrilling! She couldn’t wait. At that moment, however, she wanted more than anything to hear Charlotte’s news.

  “Mama, what time do you have to be at your gardening meeting?”

  Evelyn brushed the crumbs from her fingers and stood up. “Now, in fact. I shall see you both anon. I’m taking the carriage. Does that suit you, dear one?”