by Michelle Cox
“Eddie, take Ma to the car,” Henrietta instructed. “Karl can take her and Nanny and the little ones back. You and Herbie and Elsie can ride back in the other car.”
“They won’t all fit!”
“Nanny can ride in the front with Karl, I dare say,” Henrietta quipped.
“Oh, all right. Come on, Ma,” Eddie said with a deep sigh and helped to lift her out of the chair. Ma oddly did not say anything at this point but allowed Eddie to pull her up and then stood there unsteadily.
“Perhaps I should go, too, Hen,” Elsie suggested quietly, “to see to her.”
“No, you stay,” Henrietta said firmly.
She turned to her mother, then, and embraced her. “Don’t worry, Ma. It’ll be alright,” she said, and Elsie was surprised that Ma allowed herself to be held at all.
“I’ll come in a few days’ time, maybe tomorrow,” Henrietta promised, but her words seemed to have no effect on Ma. She merely stared back at her blankly with sad, dull eyes. Henrietta gave a nod to Eddie and Herbie, who escorted her across the small ballroom, one on either side. Elsie watched them go, wringing her hands, over and over.
Mr. Exley turned his back on the retreating Von Harmons, and giving a dismissive nod now to Henrietta and Elsie, prepared to leave them as well.
“A word, Grandfather,” Henrietta said, her voice sounding surprisingly calm.
“Yes?” he said flatly, turning back toward her. “What is it?”
“I have an idea regarding Elsie that might be welcome,” she said looking briefly toward Elsie and then back to her grandfather.
Elsie couldn’t imagine what Henrietta was about to say. . .
“Your intrigues are quite a lost cause at this point, my dear, whatever you may think, so do not waste any more time for either of us with the effort of elaborating,” Mr. Exley said snidely.
“Is this how you would speak to a lady, Grandfather? You seemed only too willing to address me as such just a moment ago,” she said, her eyes flashing.
Mr. Exely studied her, his black eyes heavy with irritation. “Very well,” he finally said, slowly. “What is it?”
“Perhaps Elsie should go to college,” Henrietta said steadily, chancing a glance over at Elsie, whose eyes, upon hearing this, grew very large. “I’ve done a bit of inquiring,” she went on, “and there’s a very good one in the city, Mundelein College, run by an order of nuns, as I understand it. Elsie would be quite safe there and would be taught correct deportment and grace, among other things of course. Romantic attachments would be out of the question with a student body of only girls—women, I should say—and nuns for teachers. It would almost be like being in a convent. She could still attend family functions with Uncle John and Aunt Agatha, if you wish.”
Elsie could hardly believe what she was hearing and felt her face grow increasingly warm as she observed her grandfather’s furrowed brow. He looked as if he were about to speak, but Henrietta beat him to it.
“Consider, Grandfather,” she continued. “Don’t you think that Elsie would be much more attractive, should I say eligible, with a bit of domestic education and finesse, not to mention a bit of distance from recent troubles?” she said quietly and then paused for a few terrible seconds, as if waiting for her words to sink in before adding, “It really does make perfect sense. Wouldn’t you agree, Grandfather?” she asked pleasantly.
“No I wouldn’t. It’s preposterous!” Mr. Exely said angrily. “She has proven she is muddled in the head by thinking she could elope with that reprobate, Barnes-Smith. Why throw good money away on an education?”
At these words Elsie wanted to sink into the ground and actually considered fleeing from the room.
“Might I remind you, Grandfather,” Henrietta snapped, “that as Mrs. Clive Howard, I have my own money at my disposal and will fund Elsie’s education myself, if need be. My consulting you was merely a matter of courtesy. It’s time Elsie decided her own future for herself.”
Elsie was studiously observing the floor during much of Henrietta’s impassioned speech, but she looked up when she heard a small cough and saw that Clive had somehow silently joined them. He was standing with his hand on the small of Henrietta’s back in such an encouraging way that Elsie thought she might cry. Oh, to be loved that way!
“Ah, Clive. I was just coming to find you. My condolences, of course,” Mr. Exely said, holding his hand out to him and thereby instantly dismissing the current conversation.
“Mr. Exley,” Clive responded stiffly, politely shaking the older man’s outstretched hand. “Thank you so very much for coming to my father’s funeral,” he continued in his deep, resonant voice. “It was very kind of you.”
Clive glanced at Henrietta now, and Elsie could have sworn she saw him wink.
“Perhaps we should discuss these matters at a later date,” he said to Mr. Exely. “Might I offer you a brandy?” he asked as he took him by the arm and simultaneously looked back at Henrietta, giving her a tilt of his head toward the door, indicating, Elsie guessed, that this was their chance to escape.
It was only ten o’clock when Clive and Henrietta found themselves alone in their private sitting room, but it felt much later. They were both drained from the wearying sorrow of the day. Clive had remained stalwart throughout, refusing to publicly give in to tears, though Henrietta knew he had teetered on the brink when the casket was lowered into the grave. She herself felt as though she had cried Clive’s share for him.
Antonia had already parted from them for the night, choosing instead to sit privately with her sister, Lavinia, one of the Hewitts who had arrived earlier in the day from New York. Clive and Henrietta had toyed with the idea of walking out onto the terrace, which had become their special place over the summer during their engagement, but the November night was wet and cold. Henrietta had told Clive that she would wrap up if he wished to go out, but he had declined, saying that they should get used to their new rooms anyway.
Antonia had taken one of the rooms in their wing, a gabled space between two bedrooms that had rarely been used, and had it converted to a private sitting room of sorts for the two of them. It had a fireplace with a low, leather sofa in front of it, complete with embroidered goose-down pillows and an Oriental rug on the floor beneath it. Along one wall ran a set of bookcases, which were somewhat sparse at the moment but which were content to wait to be filled as time went on. Beside them, a large window was cut into the gabled roofline, creating a lovely window seat. Nearby stood a cherrywood drinks cart, fully stocked of course, though they could just as easily ring for Billings, and in the corner was a brand-new wireless radio. The whole room had almost a Bohemian feel to it, and Henrietta, more than once since their return, mentally commended Antonia— this was not Mrs. Howard’s taste at all, but one she must have guessed that Henrietta and Clive would enjoy.
Henrietta poured two cognacs from one of the bottles on the cart and handed one to Clive, who was slumped on the sofa in front of the fire, his jacket removed and his legs stretched out in front of him. For a few moments, neither of them said anything.
Finally, Clive spoke. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”
“I know.”
Clive exhaled deeply.
“What are you going to do?” Henrietta asked, studying his face as he watched the flames. “Did you speak to Bennett?”
“Yes. He said to take my time and all of that. That as managing director for the interim, he’ll see to things for as long as I need.” He was silent for a few moments and then spoke again. “I suppose I shouldn’t wait too long, though. Can’t run forever.” He looked at her now and gave her a tired smile. “I’ll go in later in the week. Mother’s asked if tomorrow I might begin going through Father’s study. Making sure things are in order, I think is what she said.”
“Hasn’t she looked through any of it?” Henrietta asked, taking a sip of her drink.
“Apparently not. She thought it better for me to do all of that.”
“I se
e. Not a very entertaining day, then.”
“No, indeed.”
“Do you think it would be all right for me to go into the city to see Ma and Elsie? They’re obviously upset by what Grandfather said to them about the boys. Or am I supposed to stay here for the Hewitts’ benefit?”
“Ah, yes,” he said, turning toward her. “I’d forgotten all about the squabble. Forgive me for not asking before now.” His eyes looked sad. “No, I don’t think it matters,” he said, finally answering her question. “No, you should by all means go to them.” He took a drink. “It was wonderful to see you speak to old Exley that way, I must admit. He’s obviously decided to act quickly based on what’s happened with poor Elsie.”
“Yes . . . I wonder how he found out what happened? I thought only Julia and your father knew.”
“Father must have had a word with him before . . . before he died. That would be just like him. To try to do the right thing.” Clive took another drink of his cognac and then was silent for a few minutes. “But what’s all this about Elsie going to college?” he said, in what seemed an attempt to rouse himself from his own thoughts. “Is there such a place in the city—a women’s college run by nuns? Or did you just invent that for Exley’s irritation? Because if you did, it certainly succeeded,” he said, another small smile appearing.
“As a matter of fact,” she said slyly, “I heard about it from Julia, if you must know.”
He rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised? What did Elsie say? I gather you enlightened her when the two of you slipped away. Thanks to me expertly diverting Exley, I might add. Apparently, there was quite a scene before I turned up . . . according to Mother, anyway.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about all of the ruckus my family created. Again.”
“I’m beyond caring about any of that, darling,” he sighed. “But I am grateful that Mother came scurrying to find me, or I would have missed your brilliant speech.”
She smiled up at him.
“Go on. You were about to tell me what Elsie had to say about planning her own future, which you’ve conveniently just planned for her,” he added, his eyes lighting up.
“Beast!” she said, hitting him with one of the embroidered pillows, this one depicting a Bo Peep type of character, surrounded by sheep. “I’m not planning her future, merely giving her some suggestions. In truth,” she said more seriously now, “I feel awful, Clive. I feel I’ve let her down quite terribly.”
“What did she say?” Clive said, rubbing a finger down her arm along the black silk of her dress.
“Oh, you know Elsie. She tried to demure, saying she couldn’t leave Ma and all that. Frankly, she was more upset at the moment about the boys going away. I could barely get a word in edgewise about her own future.”
“Did she speak about the other business?” he asked quietly.
“Some, but we didn’t have time for her to tell me the whole story,” she answered. “She whispered bits of it to me as we were waiting for the car to be pulled up.”
“Do you think he forced her?”
“To run away with him? Or to . . . ?”
Clive just looked at her.
“We didn’t get to that,” Henrietta sighed. “It seemed not the time to discuss it.”
“Quite,” Clive agreed. “But is she all right do you think? She’s had a terrible blow, poor thing.”
Henrietta felt she might suddenly cry at the tenderness and compassion he was exhibiting for a girl he really hardly knew. “I’m not sure. She seems awfully depressed—nervous and fidgety. I think Julia is right. Elsie needs some sort of occupation, or I’m afraid she’ll go down the same path as Ma. They have similar dispositions in a lot of ways,” she said, looking at the fire. “Something to do besides go about with Agatha Exley, to ‘be their plaything’ is I think how Julia put it.”
“Indeed.” Clive paused before continuing. “Not to be awkward, darling, but if memory serves, Elsie hasn’t even finished high school, is this not so?”
“Well, obviously there are some hurdles to get around,” she said with a twitch of annoyance, “but in theory, doesn’t it make sense?”
“Hurdles?” Clive said, laughing. “Is that what you call them?” Clive reached out and brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. “Well, it makes perfect sense to me, my love, but I’m not so sure old Exley will go for it.”
“Well, really, Clive. What does that matter? I . . . I guess we’ve never discussed it . . . but do I have any money? I feel awful asking, but . . . I suppose I should know.”
“Oh, darling. Of course, you have your own money. I’ve been distracted by all of this and remiss in telling you the arrangements. I plan to be thoroughly modern . . . that is, if you have no objections. I’ve been meaning to open an account just for you, separate from the household account of course. I should have told you before now and spared you having to ask.”
“Thank you, Clive,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “I don’t know what I would possibly want,” she went on in a lighter tone as she looked around the room, giving a halfhearted gesture, “but it would be nice to be able to buy things for others sometimes.”
“Like a college education?” Clive smiled teasingly.
“I’m sorry about that,” she blushed. “I was bluffing, of course. Obviously, I spoke out of turn.”
“Of course you didn’t, darling. You were wonderful. Sometimes it’s hard to believe you’re the same woman I fell in love with. You’ve changed so remarkably.”
“Is that good or bad?”
He brushed her cheek with his finger and let it rest under her chin. “It’s very good,” he said softly. “When I proposed to you that crazy night, I didn’t think I could love you more, but I was so obviously wrong. I wasn’t prepared for how much more I could grow to love you. How much I need you,” he said, his voice becoming thick again, as he dropped his hand and let his finger caress the hollow of her throat.
Slowly she leaned forward to kiss him softly.
“Why don’t we go to bed?” she asked, her lips still close to his.
“I’d like nothing better,” he said, standing up and holding his hand out to her. “I’m utterly spent.”
“Come along, you poor thing,” Henrietta said, standing up now too, and pulling him gently toward their bedroom. He followed her for only a few steps, however, before he stopped, and she felt a slight tremble in his hand as he pulled it from hers. She turned to look at him and saw that he stood with his head bowed, one hand pinching the brow of his nose, trying to fight back his tears.
“Oh, Clive, dearest,” Henrietta said, retreating toward him and embracing him tenderly. “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’ve been terribly strong. You don’t have to be with me, you know.”
He nodded and wrapped his arms around her. “I know, darling. Thank you. I just wish I could have told him how I felt about him. I wish I could have done a few things differently.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “But surely, he knows it now, if he didn’t already feel it. He’s with God in heaven, and he knows how much you loved him.”
Clive gripped her tighter, and she thought she heard a small sob escape from him. He drew in a deep breath and pulled back a little. “I wish I knew what happened,” he said, his voice changing abruptly. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
Henrietta bit her lip. He was back to this again. On more than one occasion on the trip home and now back at Highbury, he had expressed his doubts over the nature of his father’s death. It was a subject he could not seem to let go of, and Henrietta was beginning to worry a bit. He seemed determined to make a mystery when there was none. But why? Perhaps it was a way for him to better cope with the suddenness of his father’s death, the way he had turned to detective work after the war? Trying to puzzle out life by solving smaller puzzles? Or was it a way of delaying having to take up his duty as chairman of the board at Linley Standard? But tonight, she knew, was not the night to reason it out.
“Clive, darling,
” she said gently, “it was just an accident. A terrible one, to be sure, but an accident just the same.”
“But I’ve spoken to Fritz. There were two men on the platform with him.”
“I’m sure there were a lot of people on the platform,” she said gingerly.
“But Fritz thought he saw them speaking to him.”
Henrietta bit her lip again. “Perhaps they were. Does that make them murderers?” she asked, looking at him earnestly. “If Fritz was observing him, wouldn’t he have also witnessed the crime?” she pointed out.
“Fritz says he drove away before the train came into the station, so, no, he wouldn’t have. I know it sounds preposterous, Henrietta, but I can’t explain it. Just a feeling that something isn’t as it seems.”
“Hmmm. Well, come along, darling. It’s late. Things will look better in the morning; I promise.”
He let out deep sigh, then, and allowed himself to be led to their room.
Chapter 4
“You promised I wouldn’t have to do anything today!” Elsie whispered frantically to Henrietta as they sat side by side on two chrome chairs in front of a beautiful ebony desk in the registrar’s office of Mundelein College in Chicago.
The new office, painted a lovely shade of aqua, was situated in the Skyscraper building, a wonderfully modern art deco structure that towered over its lowlier neighbors at an astonishing fourteen floors. The new women’s college, erected on the very edge of where Lake Michigan collided with its rocky shore, consisted of only the Skyscraper and two ancient stone “mansions” that had occupied the property before the church had bought it and consequently began its construction on the new tower, giving the campus an odd and perhaps symbolic flavor of the old and the new. The mansions, now christened Philomena and Piper Halls, were apparently the only survivors of a long string of mansions that had once peppered the shore of the lake before developers had moved in and pulled them down. At least, that was what Sr. Bernard Magdalena had explained to Elsie and Henrietta during their tour of the grounds.