by Rue Allyn
“Are you all right, James?”
“Ahem.” He cleared his throat and shifted aside before she could notice his natural, but nonetheless inappropriate, response to her ire and courage. The Mae Alden he’d met at the reading of her grandfather’s will was a quiet, naïve woman, not this virago, erupting like the legendary Vesuvius. His kitten had lost all semblance to a pet and become a full-fledged wildcat. “Yes, I’m fine. However, I seem to have forgotten an appointment and have stayed longer than I intended.”
“But we haven’t come to any conclusion about the dispensary.”
He began looking for his hat and coat. “We’ll continue this discussion another time. Please proceed as you have been until we can do that.”
“I’ll have Henries bring your things.”
That’s right, the footman had taken them when he arrived. “Thank you.”
“You look a bit flushed. Are you certain you are well?”
“Quite well, thank you. I beg your pardon for my sudden departure, but I really must be going.”
“You will be in touch on the matter of the dispensary?”
“Within the day, good afternoon.” He didn’t even trust himself to say her name, for fear that like some magical incantation, it might transform him from a gentleman into a ravening wolf.
“Good afternoon to you as well, James.”
The sound of his name from her lips melted on his heart like butter on warm bread. Thank heaven he was getting out before he was truly toasted.
He closed the study door between them before she finished speaking. Donning his hat and coat, he took the exterior stairs at a near run.
How had she done it? How had she transformed herself from meek to spirited in the space of an instant? Worse, how had she turned his thoughts from restricting her charitable activities to wanting to chain her to his bed? He hadn’t a clue. However, he’d better figure it out before he made a public fool of himself.
Of course if she’d accepted his proposal, no figuring would be necessary. He could guide her in all things, from charity to love-making.
CHAPTER EIGHT
That evening, just before closing, Harry escorted Alvin and Tolley into James’s office.
“You wished to speak with me?” James asked.
Alvin removed his boater. “Yes, sir. We saw the bloke who started that dust-up at the cloth works.”
“The one who threw the first clod at Miss Alden?”
“Yes.” Tolley nodded and followed his partner’s example.
“We think you should know he wasn’t one of the mill workers.”
“He wasn’t? How do you know this? Why didn’t you tell me at the time?” Did I hire the best men to keep Mae safe when I can’t be with her?
“You was mighty concerned about Miss Alden and impatient to get her home. We decided to try to find out more about the bloke and give you as full a report as possible.”
Mae had occupied his attention. The men had done exactly as he would have ordered. That restored his confidence in their ability. “Tell me what you know.”
“We didn’t discover much other than that none of the workers knew him.”
“Yet he was there and not identified as a stranger.”
“No one thought much of it ‘cause he was dressed the part,” continued Alvin. “But he didn’t move like a mill worker. Moved more like a toff, and his aim was bad. If he’d grown up rough, he’d know better how to hit what he aimed at.”
“Or perhaps he only wished to frighten Miss Alden, not hurt her,” James suggested.
“P’rhaps.” Alvin shifted his hat in his hands.
“Can you write out a complete description of the man?”
“We could try,” Tolley stated. But the fella had his cap pulled low so his eyes weren’t seen and only a fringe of blond hair showed from the back. Don’t know what good describing his jaw and build will do.”
“I’d like you to try anyway. Then we can all be on the lookout for the man, and since I did not observe him, I will have a better chance of spotting him with the description.”
Later when James read the description the men wrote, the few details seemed familiar, but he could not put his finger on why. He went over the list once more: longish, blond hair; slim, tall; quality of work clothes was very well made and new or almost new. He was still baffled.
He sat a while staring into space. If he counted the abduction attempt, the falling bricks and this clod-throwing incident, Mae was obviously in danger. But why and from whom? Was it the will or Mae’s activities at the manufactory that had someone upset enough to do her harm?
The possibilities were too numerous and the variables too widespread for effective analysis. Until he could narrow the field, he would just have to be extra vigilant concerning Mae and her activities.
• • •
Over the next several days, James made four different attempts to meet with Mae. However, circumstances—either hers or his—forced a change of date on each occasion.
He might have thought she was avoiding him, but the reports he received from Alvin and Tolley indicated that she truly was busy. Those reports also stated that she had encountered no further dangers either from kidnappers, falling bricks, vandals or irate workers. When the new week began without further incident or complaints from business managers, James began to feel that talking Mae out of her undertakings was unnecessary.
He opened his newspaper to review the financial and social columns prior to getting down to the day’s business. His stocks were doing well. The city was debating the merits of purchasing new fire wagons and pumps at considerable cost. Personally he thought the purchase a wise one.
An editorial speculated on the benefits of a new bridge across the Charles. The social columns were less interesting to him. He read them, nonetheless. An attorney needed to keep up with the activities of his clients in all arenas. If he hoped to gain the patronage of men like Lodge, Cabot and Kennedy, James needed all the information he could get. The usual soirees, art shows and musicales made for dull reading.
About to put the paper aside for more interesting work, he almost missed the last item.
Word has reached this reporter that Miss A., new and rising star of the social scene despite her grandfather’s passing last month, is often seen in the company of handsome Dr. K., ostensibly to garner interest in their free dispensary and other charitable works. We say that those ladies wishing to fix their interest with the good Dr. should act quickly to distract him with more noble efforts than providing charity to the great unwashed. Rumor has it that Miss A. will soon lend her home to Mrs. L. C-M for a fundraiser while the C-M house undergoes some remodeling. We assume that where Miss A. can be found, so may the charming Dr. K.
James’s brows met. No wonder complaints against Mae had become almost nonexistent. She was spending all her time gallivanting about Boston with Kerry. Were things really as serious between them as the reporter implied?
He tried to assure himself that a society reporter’s job consisted of making more out of facts than was strictly true, but he could not stifle the concern elevating his heart rate or the irritation tightening his jaw. At their last meeting, Mae had become passionate over settling the fate of the dispensary. So passionate that he’d barely escaped before yielding to dangerous impulses. Was her intense concern for the dispensary, or was her interest really Hugh Kerry?
Frown deepening, he strode to his office door, shouted for Harry, then stalked back to the desk.
“Yes, sir?”
“Did we receive a report from Pinkertons recently?”
“Pinkertons? I don’t think so. You left me written instructions several days ago requesting a report from Dimtarkan’s, which I intended to ask you about. I sent the request as you ordered, but it came back yesterday with a note that there was no such occupant at the address you gave me.”
Behind the shelter of the desk, James pounded his fist on his thigh to keep from throttling Harry. “Please send the request
again. This time send it to Pinkertons at the same address.”
“Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“Have you advertised for those clerks I want you to hire?”
“I assure you, sir, I don’t need the help.”
“Regardless, please send the advertisement today. If Lodge, Cabot or Kennedy decide to retain our firm, business will increase rapidly. I want to have trained clerical staff on hand for that eventuality. I’m counting on you to do that training, Harry.”
“Thank you, sir, I appreciate your confidence. I’ll send the advertisement as soon as I take care of the request for Pinkertons.”
“Excellent, that will be all for now.”
Harry left, and James reached for the stack of correspondence that needed his attention. He worked steadily, pushing thoughts of Mae as far to the back of his mind as possible, until shortly before noon. One more letter and he would pause for lunch before taking on the brief he needed to write. The remaining correspondence could wait.
However, the letter turned out to be a bill for more than one thousand dollars from Meyer Equipment Mfg. The details indicated that a dozen industrial spinning machines had been ordered, delivered and installed at Alden Cloth Works per the request of one P. M. Alden.
He had to take action. Charity was all well and good, but Mae could not be allowed to imagine she had authority to spend the estate into the ground to improve equipment at a facility that in all likelihood would be sold within the next two years.
He grabbed his hat and coat. “Reschedule the rest of today’s appointments. I will be out of the office.” He tossed the command at Harry and heard a faint ”Yes, sir” as the door closed.
James hailed a hansom cab and shortly before one in the afternoon, ascended the front steps of the manse.
• • •
“Good day, Mr. Collins.” Opening the front door, Henries eyed James as if he’d just come from the stables.
Not caring what bothered the butler, James thrust his coat and hat at the man, then strode past him into the foyer, making for the back of the house. “I’ve come to call on Miss Alden. Please ask her to meet me in the study.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that, sir.”
He halted, pivoting to face Henries.
“Miss Alden is occupied with guests at the present moment. I shall tell her you are here.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll join her and her guests. Which room are they in?”
Henries sniffed and gave James that same up and down look. If he were to guess, the sniff was a sign of disapproval. “Miss Alden is entertaining her guests with an informal croquet tournament on the back lawn.”
“I see. It is a shame Miss Alden did not notify me of her intentions to entertain. Nonetheless, the matter is somewhat urgent and must be cleared up today. You may escort me to her without fear that my business apparel will in anyway cause offense.”
Disapproval radiated from the butler’s tight expression. “This way, sir.” Obviously, Mae had begun her campaign to educate the barons and Brahmins about the plight of Boston’s workers. However, he hadn’t thought she would go so far as to hold her own entertainments.
Perhaps that was the source of Henries’s displeasure. Holding entertainments while in mourning was flouting convention as broadly as ordering expensive equipment for a manufactory she knew very little about. While her actions themselves were troublesome, of greater concern was the damage Mae might do to her own reputation.
A woman regarded as fast, managing, and disrespectful would not be seen as acceptable in society, especially with no fortune. Nonetheless, James was confident that once she married him and became a mother, she’d settle to more appropriate pursuits and have little time to interfere in business that didn’t concern her. She needed to be a wife—his wife. Life as an indigent would kill her. What was Kerry thinking of to encourage such unconventional behavior and pursue her so openly? The man had entirely too much influence over Mae. James needed to take action to reduce or sever that influence.
He followed the butler through the conservatory, emerging onto the huge lawn and garden at the back of the manse.
“Mr. James Collins V,” Henries announced to the assembled guests, then bowed and returned to the house.
James searched the crowd for Mae and took stock of the dignitaries and upper crust Bostonians present. Cabot, Lodge, Lyttle-Bowen, even Kennedy, all were present with their wives and a number of young people about Mae’s age. He swallowed. He was well into negotiations over representation with several of the industry barons. Pray heaven this affair did not give them the impression he could not handle an estate and keep its potential heirs in line.
“James, how pleasant to see you here. I wasn’t aware you knew of our little celebration.”
He saw his aunt approaching from a knot of people she’d just left and offered her his arm. “I read something about it in the paper but wasn’t aware of the date. I came to see Miss Alden on business. Do you know where she is?”
“She is on the croquet field. I will happily take you to her, but only if you promise not to talk business until our guests leave.”
“Our guests? I should have realized you are the Mrs. C-M mentioned in the paper. Are you acting as hostess in Miss Alden’s home?”
“It would hardly be appropriate for her to hold entertainments while in mourning. She was kind enough to offer the manse while painters are refreshing the color on the walls at my home.”
“That’s very generous of her,” James said wryly. “And clever of you to find a means for her to enjoy herself as well as further her charitable goals at the same time..”
Lydia preened. “Thank you. You did seek my assistance. How goes your pursuit of our co-hostess?”
“We should discuss that when we have more privacy.” He smiled. “Since I’ve no desire to spoil your pleasure in the day, I promise not to discuss business in front of company.”
At that moment they halted on the outskirts of the croquet field.
“Excellent. You’ll find Mae over there.” Lydia pointed in the direction of the far end of the field. “You’ll excuse me. I must attend to our other guests.”
He stared. Hadn’t Mae said something about Damato mourning the recent death of his wife? If he was still grieving, what the hell was he doing with his arms around Mae?
Mae stood in front of Vincent Damato. The sun shone down on his golden locks, only slightly less burnished than Mae’s. The fellow needed to have a barber take shears to the unruly mane. Only her modest bustle kept her backside from sliding against his trousers. Her hands gripped a croquet mallet, and Damato’s hands held hers as he guided her swing at the green-painted orb on the grass. Hugh and Miss Damato looked on with interest.
From within the circle of the fellow’s arms, Mae laughed up at him as she swung the mallet. She missed the ball entirely. Her lips formed a moue of disappointment. “Oh dear. I fear I lack the concentration to succeed at croquet, Vincent.”
He stared at her face, adoration oozing from his expression and posture.
“Mr. Damato,” Mae reproved, still smiling and her eyes shining. “Please, take my place in this game. I should never have allowed you to convince me to participate while you acted as my teacher.”
“Oh, come now,” protested Damato. “You’ve roses in your cheeks at last.”
“The exercise has been a good counter to your grief,” added Kerry from the sidelines before addressing his companion. “Miss Damato, now that James is here to keep the numbers even, please excuse me. I am promised to Lalie—that is, to Lady MacKai—in the formal parlor where she has assembled some potential donors who want to hear about the cloth works dispensary.”
Without thinking, James moved to take Mae’s elbow. “You must not overexert yourself.” He caught Damato staring at him, lips curled in an unfriendly smile that bordered on a sneer.
“Why don’t I come with you?” Miss Damato suggested to Hugh. “I’d enjoy learning more about the
dispensary. Who knows, if I learn enough, I might be able to volunteer.”
As the two left, Mae lifted the mallet and gave it to Damato, who grasped the long handle when Mae stepped away. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Pleasure at her words mixed with dismay on the man’s face at her departure. The expression would have been humorous had James not feared the additional damage a flirtation with the man would do Mae’s social standing. With her financial future in doubt, her reputation and the Alden pedigree might well prove her only assets. Damato, like Kerry, was obviously smitten—too far gone in longing to think clearly about how his own behavior might damage the object of his affections. James, on the other hand, knew what Mae needed, and it wasn’t opportunists like Damato or upstarts such as Hugh Kerry. Although, the doctor seemed to be transferring his affections to Lalie—despite Miss Damato’s determined pursuit. Since Lalie was James’s sister, the good doctor still warranted careful watching.
A number of guests stared in their direction, brows raised, as James hurried Mae from the croquet field. He waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. “I’ve an urgent matter to discuss with you.”
Her smile gleamed up at him. “I am happy to discuss any topic. However, I am helping your aunt to entertain these people and have neglected my duty too long. I must speak with Mr. and Mrs. Lyttle-Bowen. Dr. Kerry informs me that he is partner with Mr. Cabot in some enterprises on the Charles River. Winning the Lyttle-Bowens to my cause would influence Mr. Cabot, and thus many other business owners may reconsider their policies on assistance to workers and other important reforms. Come with me. I’m sure you will want to know the Lyttle-Bowens as well.” She slipped her arm from his hold to clasp his hand and was tugging him along before he could form a protest.
“I know who they are,” he whispered as she pulled him across the lawn.
“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Lyttle-Bowen,” she called out as she approached an older couple. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. James W. Collins V, attorney and executor of my grandfather’s estate.”