Rose stood and kissed her mother’s cheek.
“Fine. I don’t have any plans. If I do go out, it won’t be far.”
“I can always give her a ride,” Charlotte offered.
As soon as they were alone, Rose nearly pounced upon her sister-in-law.
“Do you have anything to tell me?”
“Of course. Let’s get right to it, shall we?” Charlotte pulled a notepad out of her satchel. “Naturally, large sums of money were paid out because the ship was fully insured. The underwriters paid the expected collectors — the yard that built her and the ship’s owner, one Mr. Dilbey. However, there was one not so expected.” Charlotte paused, then asked, “Do you know a Mr. Liam Berne?”
The beat of Rose’s heart increased at the mention of his name. “I don’t,” she said truthfully. “At least, not personally. However, I have heard his name.”
“Oddly, the man should be dead,” Charlotte said, scanning her notes.
“Why do you say that?”
“His name was on the ship’s roster that was printed in the paper, along with your Mr. Bennet’s.”
Rose flinched at hearing “your” attached to Finn’s name coming from Charlotte’s lips.
“Though apparently you were wrong twice,” Charlotte concluded.
“What do you mean?”
“Neither a Tim nor a Tom,” her sister-in-law said, regarding her sharply. “A Phineas Bennet perished upon the Garrard. I suppose he is the one who mentioned Mr. Berne to you.”
Rose looked down at her lap where she fiddled with her fingers. Of course, Charlotte would have looked at the list.
“It was a long time ago,” she muttered.
“Indeed,” Charlotte said. “In any case, Liam Berne received a hefty amount of money from the ship’s underwriter. He signed the receiving document himself.” She eyed the youngest Malloy sister. “Naturally, I am wondering how a dead man collected money. I shall take a trip to the yard that built the ship as soon as I have some free time.”
“Kelly’s yard,” Rose intoned, thinking of how the yard’s docks and moorings and even its sheds and cranes were etched in her memory? And now she had the new recollection of finding her dead husband sitting there on a bench.
She realized Charlotte was still staring at her. Rose hedged, “I suppose he didn’t sail on the Garrard that day.”
She couldn’t possibly explain how she knew that Liam Berne hadn’t been on board when even the papers hadn’t. She sighed.
Charlotte cocked her head. “Why do you think this Berne fellow bet against his own yard’s creation?”
“I couldn’t say.” Indeed, it sounded like a nefarious thing for Finn’s friend to have done.
“This might be a case of fraud or perhaps something even more reprehensible,” Charlotte suggested.
“What do you mean?”
“Why would a shipbuilder take out insurance on the vessel he was to set sail on? How would he ever hope to collect since the policy was only payable for catastrophic destruction?” She tapped her pen’s nib against the paper, unmindful of it leaking as she stared into the middle distance between them. “Yet Mr. Berne did precisely that.”
“Very strange,” Rose agreed. “So perhaps he never intended to go on it.”
“Perhaps,” Charlotte agreed. “Still, to take out that type of insurance could only mean a lack of faith in the vessel’s seaworthiness.”
That was true. Why else would Liam have insurance on the ship he was helping to build? Yet to make money off the deaths of the others — that was unthinkable. She recalled that he offered to help Finn stay behind as well. He must have known he wasn’t going to set sail long before he told Finn. Otherwise, why would he take out insurance? She shivered.
“Was it a lot of money?”
“Quite substantial,” Charlotte confirmed. “Enough to set oneself up comfortably without needing to worry.”
Rose had no choice — she would have to meet with Finn again to tell him about this development. If Liam Berne had collected a great deal of money, perhaps he wouldn’t want Finn telling others that the ship had been designed poorly, particularly if it became known that Liam might have stopped others from sailing that day and saved their lives.
***
A day later, from a vantage point across the street under the awning of a small green grocer’s, Rose watched the doorway of Monsieur Ober’s restaurant. After a relatively short and boring vigil, she was rewarded when Finn emerged and immediately spotted her. She watched him shake his head in disbelief and then gesture from the other side of the street for her to follow him.
He strode to the end of the block and then into the bookstore on the corner. She entered a few moments later. In the back, behind the stacks of classics, he had stopped and she found him.
“What on earth are you doing?” he berated her.
“I wanted to speak with you.”
“You were in broad daylight standing like a beacon on the sidewalk.”
“Perhaps only a beacon to you,” she retorted. “Most people assumed I was squeezing the peaches and checking for mealy apples.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well? I hope you putting your life in danger was worth it.”
He was being melodramatic. Surely no one was spying on them at that moment. Idly, she pulled a book from the shelf beside her and opened it.
“I wanted you to know that I spoke with Claire, and she’s told no one of your return.”
He eyed her steadily. “That’s good. Thank you. And what about you?”
“Of course I haven’t.” She slammed the book closed and replaced it. “No one except Claire and Reed. However, I would like to tell William, as you know, and as soon as possible.”
“Yes, I am aware,” he said.
Was that a snippy tone she detected?
He crossed his arms and leaned against the brick wall between the stacks. “Is that all you wanted to tell me? Which hardly seemed worth the risk by the way.”
“No, that’s not all.” She glanced around her. “My sister-in-law has uncovered something interesting.”
“Your sister-in-law? Reed’s wife?” Finn’s eyes started to bulge.
Rose knew this wouldn’t go smoothly until he understood. “I did not tell her about you. I merely asked her to look into the event of the Garrard’s capsizing and see if there was anything untoward or nefarious. She’s good at that sort of thing.”
“I see.” He rubbed his temple a moment. “What did she discover?”
“Charlotte found that your friend Mr. Berne was listed as one of the recipients of an insurance claim regarding the Garrard.”
Finn straightened slowly, cocking his head. “He received money.”
She nodded. “A large sum, according to Charlotte, making him quite comfortable. It’s public record. She gave me the name of the company that paid out.”
He was silent.
“It’s important, isn’t it?” she asked.
“I think it proves that someone besides me didn’t think the ship was designed correctly. Liam lied to me, very recently, in fact, and most likely, he lied to me four years ago, too. Who else was on the policy?”
“The ship’s owner and the yard owner.”
His handsome brow furrowed, and she wished she could smooth it. Wished she could run her fingers over his face and then into his thick hair. That was not her place to do anymore.
“If Master Builder Gilbert’s name isn’t on the policy, no one can know whether he profited from the sinking. Moreover, Liam told me he is over at the Navy yard in Charlestown, plying his craft,” he added bitterly.
“Mr. Gilbert should have been held accountable four years ago,” Rose said softly, imagining their lives if her husband hadn’t disappeared. “What will you do next?”
“Talk to Liam, I suppose,” he said, still considering.
She found herself shaking her head. “Not alone, I hope.”
He actually laughed, though it was a grim sound indeed.
“Liam is no giant, Rose. He’s on the slender side and not particularly daunting. Besides, right now, even a giant would be no match for my ire.”
“I only ask that you be careful. I’m certain you won’t let me go with you, nor ask for help.”
“Right on both counts.” He reached out and touched her arm briefly, a quick stroke upon her wrist. “Truly, I’m grateful.”
“Perhaps if you tell the police about Liam,” she pointed out, looking at her skin where he’d touched it. It was still tingling.
“If it comes down to my word against a shipyard owner’s or a wealthy businessman’s, I don’t fancy my chances. No doubt the police will think me merely a disgruntled builder who came back hoping to cause trouble. And how are they going to protect me from an unknown threat? Or you, for that matter, if anyone found out that we were married and someone tried to force my hand by threatening you.”
When he put it that way, she supposed he was right.
Finn took a deep breath. “About the insurance claim, do you have proof, something in writing?” His question dragged her back to the present.
He looked more hopeful than she had seen any time they’d spoken. The painful feeling around her heart eased slightly.
“I don’t, though as I said, it’s public knowledge according to Charlotte. You can go to the office of North America Insurance if you like and see for yourself.”
He nodded. “I’ll do that.”
They stared at each other a minute. Rose had nothing more to tell him, but she found herself loathe to leave his company. Yet how would she feel if William were seeking out and keeping company with a former lady love? Utterly devastated and rightfully so.
“I must go,” she said. “I’m sure Reed will contact you soon.”
“He knows how to find me, I assume.”
“Yes. Finn, take care. Let me know how everything works out.” The words sounded so distant, and she almost imagined this was their last meeting.
He smiled wryly, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.
“How am I to contact you if I need to?” he asked.
“I guess you can go to Reed’s offices at Scollay Square. And I, you?”
Finn thought a moment. “You can always send word via anyone at Ober’s. A note telling me a place and time, and I’ll be there.”
She gave him another small smile and turned to leave. Suddenly, he grabbed hold of her upper arm.
Expectantly, Rose turned back. Would she find him looking at her with love in his eyes? Was he going to sweep her into his arms and kiss her?
However, upon his face was a look of consternation, not adoration.
“Speak of the devil,” Finn said in a low voice, looking past her and out the small four-paned window in the brick wall.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Liam,” he whispered.
“Here?” Rose turned around to peer out the same window into the side street. She saw only passers-by, moving quickly.
Finn shrugged, “I thought I saw him.”
“That would be an incredible coincidence,” she said.
“Unless he’d been watching the restaurant and saw me, and then saw you.”
He frowned, staring out the window for another moment before focusing his attention on her once again.
“Never mind. I don’t think this is a good idea, being trapped in this bookstore. On the other hand, I don’t want you heading off down the street on your own in case he follows you. Where could we go where no one will see us?”
She hadn’t expected that. Their “business” was concluded. She should ignore his dubious suspicions and leave. Instead, she found her mind casting about for a place they could go.
“The Natural History Museum?” she suggested.
“In the Back Bay? Why? What made you think of that?” he asked.
“I have no idea, but it would be quite deserted in the middle of a weekday.”
“Too far,” he said.
Rose puffed out her cheeks and blew the hair off of her forehead. What was close by?
“We’re close to Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market.”
Finn shook his head. “Only two of the busiest places in Boston.”
“All the better not to be noticed,” she pointed out.
“You’re right about that, but we won’t be able to hear each other above the din.”
She narrowed her eyes. Hear each other about what exactly? Moreover, why didn’t he think of somewhere? She tried again.
“The Old South Meeting House?” she suggested. “Not the most interesting museum in the world so perhaps not heavily attended.”
“I wasn’t asking to go sightseeing, so before you suggest the following, no to the Boston Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts, and the Music Hall, too.”
“Well, then, Finn, why don’t you—”
“Park Street Church,” he interrupted. “It’s quiet and directly around the corner.”
“Fine, we’ll—”
“You go first. I’ll watch to see if anyone follows you. Choose a pew in the balcony on the far right under one of the arched windows, and I’ll join you shortly.”
Finn spun her around by the shoulders and gave her a little shove in the direction of the store’s front door. She mumbled to herself about hard wooden pews and musty old churches, no matter how pretty. Still, she did as he asked and made her way to the church, past four towering columns and up the steep granite steps of the brick building.
Pausing at the tall double doors under the white marble lintel, Rose glanced behind her, flicking her gaze upon people walking by. No one seemed to be taking any notice of her, so she entered between the four shorter pristine columns into the cool interior.
As expected, the building was nearly empty at the odd hour, with no regular service scheduled. The church’s interior was a tad boxy and plain for her liking, but she was not there to sightsee. Taking the stairs to her right, she then walked along the length of the nave on the balcony level.
Rose sat next to the enclosed organist’s box, resting her hands on smoothly polished railing in front of her. From up there, she could see anyone coming along the central aisle. However, as the minutes went by, no one came. At least, not the man for whom she waited.
As her anxiety grew, her pulse started to race and a lump formed low in her throat, nearly choking her. Wiping her moist gloved palms back and forth on the polished railing for the umpteenth time, she realized this unfortunate delay was all too reminiscent of waiting for Finn to return from the sea and then his never coming.
Heart pounding, Rose jumped to her feet, unable to bear the agony of waiting a moment longer — certain now that Finn wouldn’t come. She could feel it down deep in her bones. However, she refused to do anything rash, such as return to his room to find him.
Instead, she hurried home, casting worried glances over her shoulder the entire way. Blast Finn and his ridiculous theories. No one was following her, and there was no threat.
Chapter Seventeen
Rose held firmly to Claire’s hand when it seemed her friend might turn tail and run as they approached the Brewster’s front steps on Brimmer Street. The evidence of the mysterious tea party was made clear by the garlands of flowers draped along the wrought iron fence as well as hung jauntily over the front doorway.
“Come, dear, let’s stick to the plan,” she admonished and yanked Claire to her side before ringing Mrs. Brewster’s front doorbell. They were fifteen minutes early. On purpose.
Indeed, Rose had been ready to go for hours, welcoming any distraction that took her from pacing across her bedroom, back and forth. She had practically worn a path in the rug since Finn’s disappearance the day before. Helping out Claire was a far better use of her time than worrying over her husband. The man could take care of himself.
Lucy, the Brewster’s regular housekeeper opened the door.
“Miss Appleton,” she said with a slight curtsey and a welcoming smile, “and Miss Malloy. Please com
e in. You’re the first to arrive.”
So, the staff at least didn’t know of Claire being snubbed. That was a blessing in any case.
“Everything is ready in the front room,” Lucy continued. “May I take your capes?”
“No, thank you,” Claire spoke for them both. They were wearing lightweight mantelets, Claire’s in deep green and Rose’s in dove gray, and were perfectly comfortable indoors.
“Please go on in, then. You both know the way,” Lucy added with a friendly nod. “Miss Norcross is in there, and I’m to wait here to welcome guests.”
“Thank you,” Rose said, and they headed into the first parlor on the left.
Tastefully decorated with vases full of fresh flowers, there was a sideboard laden with refreshments, and no one in the room except Maeve. She turned at the sound of footsteps, and her face blanched of all its color when she saw who’d walked in, giving Rose a small measure of satisfaction.
Without hesitation, Rose gave Franklin’s cousin her grandest smile, hoping that Claire was doing similarly.
“So glad we are right on time, by which I mean a little early. It wouldn’t do to have Mr. Brewster’s special friend, Miss Appleton, not be here to greet the others as they arrive, would it?”
Maeve still said nothing, though her mouth opened as she looked from Claire to Rose and back again.
“Are there any last-minute things with which you might need our help?” Rose continued, dropping Claire’s hand when she was sure her friend was quite steady and not about to flee.
Maeve shook her head.
Rose looked from Claire to Maeve hoping one of them would pick up the conversation and ease the tension. Alas, no.
Taking a few steps closer to the buffet table, Rose surveyed the offerings of tiny finger sandwiches and baked cheese biscuits, a pitcher of champagne- and rum-spiked Roman punch, a covered teapot for the temperance gals, and, sadly, blancmange. She rolled her eyes. Was there anyone who actually enjoyed that bland cornflour concoction?
Thankfully, next to it was a three-tiered plate of chocolates with the distinctive blue and silver ribbon laid around the pedestal proclaiming them to be Randall Chocolates from Newbury Street. Her favorites!
An Inconceivable Deception Page 18