by Jen Turano
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room until Miss Mabel cleared her throat and turned her gaze on Permilia. “Did I hear correctly that you are responsible for that charming Miss Quill column?”
Permilia briefly caught Asher’s eye before returning her attention to Miss Mabel. “How kind of you to call it a charming column, Miss Mabel, and I do fear I must own up to being the person behind the pen—although . . . I would appreciate if you would keep that information to yourself. As you might have noticed, my family has not been pleased with some of my antics of late.”
Miss Mabel patted the spot on the settee, waiting until Permilia sat down beside her before she drew Permilia’s hand into her own. “Your secret is safe with us, dear, although given how well written your column has always been, you should be proud of what you’ve accomplished, not embarrassed about it.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Ida snapped. “It was not well done of me to allow my temper to get the better of me and disclose that information to you, but if word gets out about her true identity . . . well, we’ll be ruined for certain, I’ll be banned from my most beloved society, and Lucy will become a confirmed spinster.”
“Since Mr. Slater is already courting her,” Permilia said, “I don’t believe that’s going to be an issue.”
Asher was hardly surprised when yet another silence descended over the study, but this silence didn’t linger long because Mr. Tooker abandoned his perusal of the ceiling and nodded to his aunts. “I believe it might be for the best for us to take our leave and let these good people sort out their madness without having uninvited onlookers interfering.”
“But it’s just getting good,” Miss Mabel protested.
“Which is exactly why we need to leave.” Mr. Tooker held out his hand to his aunt, which she staunchly ignored.
“I’m afraid he’s quite right,” Miss Henrietta said, getting to her feet. Pulling Miss Mabel up beside her a second later, even though her sister was more than vocal with her protests and kept sending Ida unfriendly looks, Miss Henrietta caught Asher’s eye. “Be certain to stop by our house in the next week or two, Mr. Rutherford. Mabel and I have found yet another tea we’re quite enjoying, and it might be a good tea for you to offer when your tearoom opens.”
Asher inclined his head. “I will certainly do that, as well as bring a formal invitation for you and your sister to join me for the grand celebration to honor the opening of the tearoom. That opening, I’m delighted to announce, is going to be much sooner than expected, given that construction is ahead of schedule.” He nodded to Mr. Tooker. “You’re welcome to join your aunts as well.”
Mr. Tooker inclined his head. “I will certainly plan on doing just that, especially since it was always a dream of my aunts to open up their own tea shop, which they never did, but at least they can be there to watch you enjoy the experience of opening up a shop.”
With that, Mr. Tooker took hold of Miss Henrietta’s arm, then did the same with Miss Mabel, and with a brief nod, he escorted them out of the room.
“What a strange family,” Ida said, not bothering to lower her voice even though it was likely the Huxley sisters and their nephew could still hear her.
George moved to the door, shut it, then walked back across the room, sitting down in a well-worn chair. “The Huxley sisters can hardly be blamed for being considered a little strange, Ida, what with the father they had.” He ran a hand through hair that was decidedly untidy. “Mr. Huxley was not a pleasant man, and quite honestly, I always found him to be somewhat intimidating. If I’m recalling correctly, there was a rumor that he was a bit of a philanderer, which might explain why I never heard of the Huxley sisters’ half-sibling.”
“That certainly explains why Mabel and Henrietta remained spinsters,” Ida said, throwing herself into the nearest chair. “Bad blood will out in the end, and they obviously have bad blood.”
“Mabel didn’t have to remain a spinster,” George said, his eyes narrowing at his wife. “She had quite a few admirers back in the day, but her father had great aspirations to become a member of high society. Since none of those admirers possessed the proper social connections, I’m afraid Mr. Huxley discouraged them from pursuing Mabel.”
Ida made a sound like an angry cat. “Should I assume you were to be counted as one of those admirers, George?”
“While I was very fond of Mabel, any affection that may have blossomed between us came to a swift end when I met Permilia’s mother.” He switched his attention to Permilia. “She was a wonderful woman, and even though we weren’t given long to be together before she was called home, we enjoyed a delightful marriage, and I’ve always been thankful she gave me you.”
“Which is oh-so-touching,” Ida drawled, “but has nothing to do with the disaster we’re facing now that even more people have found out about Permilia’s secret life.”
“People you were responsible for telling,” George returned.
Ida waved that straight aside before leveling a glare Permilia’s way. “I, for one, believe it’s past time explanations were given, and then . . . we’ll need to decide what to do with you.”
“There’s nothing to be done with me, Ida,” Permilia began. “It’s not as if I’m some criminal on the loose. I simply wrote a society column, and while that may seem untoward in the social circles we travel in, it would not have even been necessary if you didn’t restrict my access to my trust fund, or cut my pin money allowance in half. Because you did that, I really had no choice but to accept the offer I was extended from the New York Sun, which means you’re just as much to blame as I am.”
“What obligations could you have possibly had?” Ida asked.
Before Permilia could answer, George sat forward, a tic beginning to develop on the side of his jaw. Turning a hard eye on Ida, he then turned his attention to Permilia. “What do you mean, Ida restricted your access to your trust fund, and . . . did you say your pin money was cut in half?”
Permilia’s shoulders took to sagging, a circumstance she did nothing to correct, even when Ida started tsking under her breath.
“If you hadn’t allowed yourself to become so distant from me over the past few years, Father, you would have known what Ida was doing. And while the argument has been made that you only married her because you wanted me to gain a feminine influence in my life, I don’t believe that’s the whole truth. I think you were lonely and had been for a very long time, which, paired with your desire to see me adopt a more ladylike demeanor, had you actively searching for someone to spend the rest of your life with.”
She held up a hand when George started to protest, cutting him off before she turned to Ida. “As for your question regarding what obligations I had . . . while I know this will distress you even more, I’m heavily involved with Miss Snook’s School for the Improvement of Feminine Minds. Since I’m the sole benefactor of that school, when my funds were limited, I really had no choice but to accept employment when it was offered to me.”
Releasing a breath, she turned her attention to Lucy, who was being remarkably quiet, as if she was doing her utmost not to attract attention to herself.
“As for you, Lucy, I’m going to say that I am sorry you’re so distressed by the information you discovered about me. However, I highly doubt that information will harm you in the end, especially since it does seem as if Mr. Eugene Slater is keen on courting you.”
“He’s agreed to lend us the use of his yacht tomorrow to sail us over to Paris,” Lucy said, then immediately retreated into silence when George rose to his feet and settled his attention on his stepdaughter.
“Mr. Eugene Slater, as in the man who has been trying to get me to consolidate my mining ventures with his?”
Lucy’s only response was to sink farther into the depths of the large chair, her eyes now as wide as saucers.
“Lucy is unfamiliar with you in a temper, Father,” Permilia began, “so do try to mind your blustering. But getting back to Mr. Slater, yes, I do believe we’re spea
king of the same man, and learning you’re familiar with him is truly concerning.”
She nodded to Lucy. “I know you and I do not share an affable relationship, Lucy, but I am older than you, and as such, I have seen more of the world. While Mr. Slater is indeed a rather dashing gentleman and is, from all accounts, incredibly wealthy, don’t sell yourself short and settle for him, especially if it does become clear he’s more interested in Father’s mines than he is in you.” She smiled. “You’re incredibly annoying, willful, and spoiled, but I don’t want to have to add miserable to that unpleasant list.”
Turning from Lucy, she settled her sights on Asher, a circumstance he did not find encouraging, given what she’d said so far.
Lifting her chin, she caught his eye. “It was very charming of you to show up at my home and extend me an offer of courtship and perhaps more, simply because we became the subject of unexpected gossip. But as I believe has become quite clear, I’m not meant to spend my life in society, which seems to me to be quite the opposite of where you’re meant to spend your life. You’re a fine gentleman, every bit as dashing as Mr. Slater, and you’ve accomplished something most men in your position would not have been able to do—build a first-rate business when the world as you’d always known it was pulled out from underneath your feet.”
She rose from the chair and sent him a rather sad smile. “You’ll be a great success, I know it, but I’m releasing you from any obligation you may feel toward me . . . and bidding you adieu.”
She nodded to her father. “I’m bidding you adieu for now as well, Father, because while it is clear that you brought me to the city out of love, you should have consulted with me before you threw me into the lion’s den. You certainly should have consulted with me before deciding to not allow me to run your business, a circumstance that hurt me deeply and still hurts to this day.”
George took a step toward his daughter. “If I believed you truly loved mining, Permilia, I would have never brought you to New York, but . . . you don’t love it. You never have. In your heart, you’re a lady through and through, enjoying fine fabrics, perfumes, and everything else associated with being feminine—except, perhaps, dancing. Yes, you’re every bit as capable as a man to run my business, but I would have been doing you a grave disservice if I had turned my business over to you. You don’t belong in that world, Permilia. It’s far too coarse for you. That isn’t to say that you’re not meant for another business, just not mine.”
A single tear trailed down Permilia’s cheek, but when Asher moved to join her, she held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks before she returned her attention to her father.
“You may very well be right, Father, but before I came home today, I stopped by Grace Church and had a most interesting conversation with Reverend Perry. He recommended I turn over my troubles to the only One capable of leading me in the right direction. Now that I consider everything, and now that we’ve gotten so much out into the open—matters I never even considered before—I have the strangest feeling this is a turning point in my life. In order for me to be able to understand where God may be steering me, I need to distance myself from all of you and try to find a place where I can just be me for a bit. Hopefully, if I can take some time by myself, I’ll be able to decide what path I’m supposed to take next.”
“You’re leaving the city?” Asher asked.
“Probably not, or at least not for long, since I do have obligations here and will need to seek out employment at some point.”
“You have no need to seek out employment, Permilia,” George argued. “Especially since I intend to make certain you have full access to your trust fund from this point forward.”
“And while I do appreciate that, Father, and certainly am not going to refuse that access, I still need to find my purpose in this life.”
She dipped into a curtsy that was sheer perfection, one even Ida couldn’t fault. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to fetch the trunk I packed for Paris, because . . . my future awaits.”
Chapter
Twenty-Two
TWO WEEKS LATER
At the sound of voices, Permilia lifted her head from the journal she’d begun keeping and settled her attention on the door of her suite of rooms at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. When the voices became more distinct, she smiled as she realized Gertrude had come to call.
Marking her spot in the journal with the dance card Asher had signed at the Vanderbilt ball, Permilia scooted the chair she was sitting in away from a charming writing desk fashioned in a Georgian style.
Walking across the well-appointed sitting room, one that included an Aubusson carpet to add the proper touch of elegance, she opened the door. Standing a few feet from her in the hallway, Gertrude—now almost completely back to her normal color—was in the midst of an earnest discussion with Agent McParland, one of the Pinkerton agents Asher had hired to guard Permilia every second of the day.
She knew full well Pinkerton agents were quite dear to employ—since she’d badgered Agent McParland the week before to tell her how much he was paid. He hadn’t exactly been keen on doing that, but when she told him she wouldn’t be comfortable allowing the Pinkerton Agency to continue guarding her if she wasn’t told the cost of their services, he’d relented.
When she’d brought up what she felt was a grave extravagance to Asher, one of the many times he’d stopped by the hotel in order to bring her up-to-date on their case as he’d taken to calling it, he’d brushed her concerns straight aside. And when she’d persisted, trying to convince him to at least allow her to take care of half the bill, he’d resorted to claiming it was his fault her life was in danger, even though she wasn’t exactly certain that was the truth.
It had hardly been Asher’s fault that she’d been off snooping around the Vanderbilt ball when she’d overheard the men discussing Asher’s murder. But since Asher seemed determined to play the part of an overprotective friend, and she found the thought of that overprotectiveness to be somewhat delightful, she’d relented and allowed him to have his way in the end.
“Ah, Permilia,” Gertrude exclaimed, stepping away from Agent McParland, who was looking rather abashed that he apparently hadn’t noticed the door being opened. “You’re looking very springlike today. What an interesting shade of green, and I have to say that embroidery around the cuffs of your sleeves is simply exquisite.”
Permilia smiled. “Thank you, Gertrude. The woman who designed my costume for the Vanderbilt ball, Miss Miller, also whipped up this charming walking dress. I asked for something to combat the dreariness that frequently comes with our rainy springs here in the city, and this is what she designed for me.”
“Forgive me, Miss Griswold,” Agent McParland said, stepping forward. “But you normally don’t trouble yourself with dressing in the first state of fashion unless you’re planning on leaving the hotel. May I assume that you’ve once again forgotten to alert us to a trip you intend to take today?”
Permilia’s eyes widened. “Good heavens, but I do believe you may be right. Miss Cadwalader and I have made plans to travel to Miss Snook’s School for the Improvement of Feminine Minds. I left a note at the front desk this morning, asking them to ready Mr. Merriweather for me.” She grimaced. “He’s probably already been taken out of the stables, and I would hate to disappoint him and have him returned to the stables, especially since he’s been rather surly of late.”
“I believe the entire Pinkerton Agency is familiar with how surly your horse has been of late, Miss Griswold. If you’ll recall, he led us on quite the merry chase a few days ago, apparently wanting to show you and everyone tasked with following you that day who was in charge, and it certainly wasn’t any of us.”
Permilia smiled. “He is a somewhat quirky creature, but at least we were able to have a nice afternoon drive, one that took us up the Hudson River and almost to Sleepy Hollow.”
“It was pouring down rain, you were driving an open buggy, and all of the agents, myself included, were
riding our horses,” Agent McParland pointed out.
Her shoulders sagged. “Would you prefer Miss Cadwalader and I not go to Miss Snook’s School for the Improvement of Feminine Minds today?”
“Of course you and Miss Cadwalader will go to Miss Snook’s School for the Improvement of Feminine Minds, but honestly, could you not ask Miss Snook if she could shorten the name of her school? That’s far too much of a mouthful for me. Because you enjoy visiting the school a few times per week, we agents are forced to say it over and over again in order to arrange proper protection for you, and . . . the name gets stuck in a person’s mind after a while.”
Permilia inclined her head. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” Agent McParland said, gesturing her and Gertrude into the room and taking hold of the doorknob after they’d crossed the threshold. “Now then, since I need to alert the agency about why we’ve left the hotel, the two of you will need to find something to occupy yourselves with until I come back to fetch you.” With that, he pulled the door shut, leaving a guilty Permilia in his wake.
“I wish I could say I don’t forget to tell them my plans often, but I’m afraid I’m just so used to going out whenever I please that it’s not something I’ve grown accustomed to as of yet.”
Gertrude smiled. “At least, since you’re no longer employed as Miss Quill, you don’t have to think up credible excuses as to why you’re going to the New York Sun. I’m fairly certain since you’re being guarded by the best, they’d have figured out your secret in about a minute.”
Permilia returned the smile. “I imagine you’re right.” She tilted her head. “Since you brought it up, you haven’t said much about my disclosure regarding my secret identity. Were you not bothered by the idea that I’m the lady behind the quill?”