by Nan Ryan
Outside in the corridor, he exhaled deeply, then went in search of his wife.
“It’s done,” he told the worried Julie, ushering her into his book-lined library and closing the door. “Clayton Knight’s on his way to Baltimore, and in a couple of days you and Mary Ellen will be on your way to New York and then on to England.”
“How did she take it, John?” asked his troubled wife.
John Thomas Preble shrugged negligently. “As you would expect a starry-eyed, trusting young girl to take the betrayal of her sweetheart. At the moment Mary Ellen is devastated, but that won’t last.” He smiled confidently and touched his wife’s cheek. “A month from now she will have forgotten all about Clayton Knight.” His smile broadened when he added, “She’ll be the blushing bride of Daniel Lawton and honeymooning happily in the sunny South of France.”
Skeptical, Julie Preble said, “I don’t know, John. She’s truly fond of Clay. They’ve been soulmates since they were small children.” She paused a moment, then said, “Besides, how you can be sure Daniel Lawton will want to marry Mary Ellen?”
“Now, Julie, you know very well I see Lawton’s father regularly at my club. The two of us have often discussed the attractive prospect of our offspring marrying. James Lawton is just as anxious to have Mary Ellen for his daughter-in-law as we are to have young Daniel for our son-in-law.”
“I understand that, dear, but what about the children? Daniel’s been seeing Brandy Templeton off and on for the past two years, and he might not—”
“I foresee no real problems. Daniel hasn’t exactly been seeing that Templeton girl in the way you mean. He’s been sleeping with her, dear. Lawton Sr. assured me the boy has never had any intention of marrying her.” Smiling, he added, “I’ve caught the way young Lawton looks at our Mary Ellen. He has wanted her since the moment she became a woman. He’ll jump at the chance to marry her, mark my words. As for Mary Ellen, after what Knight’s done to her, she’ll be extremely vulnerable. If Daniel is around—which he will be—she’ll naturally turn to him for comfort.” John Thomas snapped his fingers loudly and smiled. “Before you know it, she’ll be in love again and safely married.”
Julie Preble nodded. It made sense. And it was for the best. Of that she was certain. Poor Mary Ellen was suffering now, but she was young. She’d get over Clay Knight. And she would have a much happier life with Daniel Lawton than she’d have ever had with Clay. Clay was a sweet young man, but he could never fit in with their circle of friends. It really wouldn’t be fair to poor Clay to subject him to that kind of cruel snobbery.
John Thomas circled his mahogany desk, took a thick packet from the middle drawer. “Here’s the itinerary for your trip,” he said, handing it to her.
Julie took the packet as John Thomas counted off the items on his fingers. “One, you and Mary Ellen will leave Memphis Tuesday morning. Two, when you reach New York, you will board the Cunard liner SS Oceana. Three, when you arrive in London you will check into the Cannaught. Four, a couple of days later the Lawtons show up in London and check into the Cannaught, where they will naturally bump into you and Mary Ellen. Five, after a few days the Lawtons will invite the two of you to board a chartered yacht and accompany them to their villa in Monte Carlo.”
“And you will meet us there in Monaco,” said Julie.
John Thomas smiled and shook his head. “Just in time to give my beautiful daughter away at her wedding.”
Two weeks after a grieving Mary Ellen and Julie Preble stepped onto a steamer in New Orleans for the journey to New York to board an oceangoing vessel, a jubilant Clay Knight stepped off the steamer Dixie Star at the Memphis levee.
He was eager to get to Longwood and Mary. He had exciting news to share with her. He could hardly wait to see her lovely face when he told her he had been accepted at Annapolis. His long-held dream had come true! He would be a plebe midshipman in the autumn, and when he graduated from the academy, they would be married. She would one day be the proud wife of a naval Captain!
Valise in hand, Clay hurried down the gangway to the busy wharf. Dodging waiting riverboat passengers and sweating dock workers and huge bales of cotton, he weaved his way through the crowd and eagerly climbed the Chickasaw cliffs.
He ran all the way to Longwood and was so out of breath once he got there, he had to lean for a moment against a tall white porch column to collect himself.
His breath finally regained, he knocked on the front door and waited anxiously, the smile on his face as bright as the afternoon sun. Heart beating fast with anticipation, he hoped it would be Mary who answered the door.
It was Titus who let him in.
“Hello to you, Titus,” Clay said cheerily. “Is Mary around?” He automatically looked up the grand staircase, expecting to see her come flying down to greet him.
The old Preble house servant looked grave. Unsmiling, he said, “Mast’ Preble waitin’ for you in his study, Mist’ Clay. If you jes’ follow me, please.”
Clay’s bright smile slipped a little. Nervously he asked, “Mr. Preble is waiting for me? Why is he here at Longwood in the middle of the day?”
Titus gave no reply. Clay followed the uniformed butler down the silent corridor, puzzled, a feeling of uneasiness settling over him. They reached the open study door. Titus left him, turning away quickly, avoiding Clay’s eyes.
“Come in, son,” came John Thomas Preble’s low voice from inside the shadowy study.
Clay felt a hint of a chill skip up his spine. He drew a shallow breath and walked into the book-lined study. He squinted in the pervasive dimness. He found it strange that all the curtains were pulled against the afternoon sun and the tall double doors behind John Thomas’s massive desk were closed. The room was overwarm, and it was stuffy.
John Thomas Preble was seated behind his mahogany desk. He came slowly to his feet when Clay walked in.
“Clay, Clay, my boy,” John Thomas said, his tone clearly revealing that something was wrong.
“Mr. Preble,” Clay said, alarmed, “what it is? Are you ill, sir? Has something happened? Why are you shut up here in the shadows?”
“Forgive me for that,” John Thomas said wearily. “I guess I was feeling so bad I just—” He stopped speaking.
He sighed, crossed to a set of tall windows, and drew the heavy damask curtains, flooding the room with bright sunlight. It was then Clay saw that the older man’s gray-streaked dark hair was badly disheveled, that his lower face was covered with a couple of days’ growth of beard. He looked haggard and very tired.
“Oh, God, no,” Clay murmured, fear clutching his heart. “Mary? Something’s happened to Mary! She’s fallen ill. She’s been hurt. She’s…she’s…No, God, no…”
Shaking his head, John Thomas said, “She isn’t ill. She hasn’t been hurt.” He paused. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “But I’m afraid you are going to be badly hurt, son.”
Clay stared, dumbfounded, at the older, shorter man. “I don’t understand. What are you saying? Where is Mary? Why isn’t she—”
“Mary Ellen is gone, Clay,” said John Thomas. Gesturing, he added, “You better sit down.”
“I’ll stand,” Clay said firmly. “Where is Mary? When is she coming back?”
“I just don’t know how to tell you this,” said John Thomas, running both hands through his ruffled, silver-streaked hair. “It’s so hard for a father to admit that his only daughter is a…a very foolish, fickle little…heartbreaker.”
“Mary? A heartbreaker? What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”
“Christ, this is terrible, terrible! Clay, I’m afraid that the impetuous Mary Ellen let no moss grow under her dancing slippers while you were away.” John Thomas covered his eyes with a hand, gritted his teeth. “Son, I’m ashamed of my own daughter, so help me God.” His hand came down, and he looked Clay squarely in the eye. “As soon as I told Mary Ellen you were to be gone for a couple of weeks, she ups and invites Daniel Lawton over for dinner. Can you believe it? The v
ery first night you were gone, she was…they were…Can you imagine?”
His tight face showing his puzzlement and disbelief, Clay said simply, “No, sir. No, I can’t. I don’t believe it. There must be a reasonable explanation. Mary would never entertain someone else when she’s…she’s—”
“When she’s been sleeping with you for more than a year,” the older man interrupted. Smiling sourly then, he added, “Well, neither would I, but there you have it. It’s your own fault, Knight. You turned her out at such a tender age, she knows no better. Bedding my baby, you…you—!” He stopped speaking, but his dark eyes flashed with condemnation.
Clay’s tanned jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists at his sides, but he said nothing.
“I’m sorry.” John Thomas’s expression softened immediately. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper, but I’m as upset as you. She’s my daughter, she’s behaving abominably, so I guess I lashed out at you because I so badly want to blame someone else. Anyone else.” Preble moved to a crystal decanter of liquor. Pouring whiskey into a couple of shot glasses, his back to Clay, he said, “Mary Ellen fell right into Lawton’s arms, and it must have been love at first kiss. They’ve sailed to Europe to be married on the French Riviera. They’ll honeymoon there in the Lawtons’ villa overlooking the Mediterranean.”
Clay’s tanned face paled, and his heart squeezed so painfully in his chest he was afraid he might pass out. “No. No, that can’t be,” he said, and his voice sounded hollow, foreign even to himself. “Mary loves me, she wouldn’t—”
“Apparently she would.” John Thomas turned to face him. “We tried to talk her out of it, but her mind was made up.”
Thinking out loud, Clay muttered, “I have to talk to her, to see what really happened. To find out why—”
“That’s out of the question, I’m afraid. She’s with Daniel Lawton, and they’re already inseparable. I realize that Mary Ellen has acted rashly and that you’ve been hurt by her heartless betrayal. But you’ll get over it. You’ll get over her. You’re an intelligent, likable, handsome young man, and there’ll be an abundance of beautiful women in a young naval officer’s life.” Finally John Thomas smiled.
Clay did not.
His very soul exposed, he said sadly, “I don’t want an abundance of beautiful women.” He began to choke, swallowed hard, fought back the tears that were stinging his gray eyes. “I only want my Mary.”
13
BROKENHEARTED, A PALE, WAN Mary Ellen Preble spent long hours at the rail of the Cunard line’s majestic SS Oceana as it slowly crossed the choppy Atlantic. Her white-blond hair blowing wildly about her head, the skirts of her traveling suit pressed against her slender form, she stared sightlessly out at the dark, restless seas and gray, leaden skies.
The long, solitary hours she stood gripping the sea-misted railing were filled with agonies of a kind she had never known existed. She hurt so badly, it was like an intense physical pain from which there was no release. For which there was no balm. She felt as if she couldn’t bear the acute suffering one more hour, one more moment.
Tortured beyond endurance, so utterly miserable she felt as if she no longer wanted to live, Mary Ellen kept reviewing the events of the past terrible week. Again and again and again she relived the horror of hearing her father repeat Clay’s cruel, damning words, words that kept echoing through her aching head like a hated litany: I’ve tolerated Mary for years. Get me an appointment to Annapolis and I’ll hand your precious daughter back to you.
Mary Ellen still could not accept what had happened. She couldn’t understand how she could have been so wrong about Clay. She couldn’t believe that the man she loved with all her heart and soul had used her so callously.
She didn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t true. There was some mistake, some explanation for all this. If only she could see him. Talk to him. Straighten it all out. Clay loved her. He couldn’t hurt her.
Could he?
Maybe he could.
She, better than anyone, knew just how badly he wanted an appointment to the academy. It meant so much to him. Everything. It was everything and she was nothing. Nothing! She was but a pawn to be traded for what he really desired. For what really mattered to him.
The strangest, saddest part of the whole affair was that he could have had both. Her parents had loved and trusted Clay, just as she had. They had fully approved of him and would have welcomed him warmly into the family. He was already like a member of the family, so why…why…why?
Round and round in circles she went, one moment believing that it was all some horrid mistake, that Clay loved her and would always love her. The next moment she was convinced that what her father said was true: Clay cared nothing for her and never had. He was, like it or not, heartless, unprincipled, manipulative, and obsessively ambitious.
Agonizing over the hopeless situation would bring on a fresh flood of tears, and she would weep anew. Then the intense crying would finally end, and Mary Ellen’s demeanor would become even more frightening to her worried mother. For hours at a time Mary Ellen would stand unmoving at the ship’s railing, stoic and unreachable. Her staring eyes would hardly blink. Her face was devoid of emotion.
Julie Preble was extremely uneasy about her distraught young daughter. She made it a point to keep a close, watchful eye on Mary Ellen, afraid she might do something foolish, might even attempt to leap to her death in the sea. Her heart ached for her suffering child, and she wondered if perhaps she and John Thomas had made a tragic mistake by what they’d done. Suppose Mary Ellen didn’t get over Clay Knight? Suppose she remained unhappy for the rest of her life?
No. No, that wasn’t going to happen. Mary Ellen would be perfectly happy as the wife of Daniel Lawton. She and John Thomas were doing this for Mary Ellen’s sake, and one day Mary Ellen would thank them.
Mary Ellen was no better when they reached England.
She wouldn’t talk, she hardly ate, she couldn’t sleep. No amount of cajoling and humoring could make the heartbroken young girl leave their luxurious Cannaught corner suite.
The worried Julie Preble sighed with relief when she learned that Daniel Lawton and his parents had checked into the hotel.
“Good news, dear,” she said brightly, popping unannounced into Mary Ellen’s bedroom, “the Lawtons from home are in London! They’re right here in the hotel! Isn’t that a pleasant surprise?”
Mary Ellen made no reply.
Julie Preble tried again. “They’ve invited us to join them for dinner, and I—”
“No.”
“Now, Mary Ellen, I know you’re still not feeling well, but—”
“Not feeling well?” Mary Ellen exploded. “You think that’s all there is to this? Poor little Mary Ellen. She isn’t feeling well today.” Her dark eyes were so cold and mean, it frightened her mother. “Don’t you understand that the man I love more than life itself has forsaken me! What would it take to convince you that my world has ended! Can’t you grasp the fact that I don’t want to live without Clay! Nothing matters to me. Nothing and no one. I don’t want to live, Mother, and I damned sure don’t want to have dinner with the Lawtons! Now, please, please, get out and leave me alone!”
Julie Preble’s eyes widened. Her hand lifted, clutched her throat. She felt as if she’d been slapped in the face. Mary Ellen had never before spoken to her like that. Shocked to the roots of her pale hair and more alarmed than ever, the stunned mother was at a loss. She knew better than to say anything more to her nearly hysterical daughter. Trembling with emotion, Julie Preble backed away, then turned and left the room.
Unsure what to do, wondering if she should call for the hotel’s physician, Julie sent a frantic telegram to her husband on the floor of the cotton exchange, asking him what she should do. She paced nervously, waiting for an answer.
When the uniformed page told her regretfully that Mr. John Thomas Preble could not be located, the concerned Julie Preble had no choice but to dash off a hurried mes
sage to Daniel Lawton. She needed to speak with him in private as soon as possible.
A half hour later Julie sat across the pink damask-draped table from Daniel Lawton in the Cannaught’s darkly paneled tea room.
“It isn’t going to work, Daniel,” she confided in a low, shaky whisper, her fingers playing nervously on the rim of the fragile teacup before her.
Daniel Lawton smiled confidently. “Of course it will work, Mrs. Preble. You’re worrying needlessly. You’ll see.”
“No, no, you don’t understand. Mary Ellen is extremely distressed. She loves Clay so much that…that…” She stopped, thinking how that must sound to this handsome young man who hoped soon to marry Mary Ellen. “She’s not just upset, she’s also very skeptical.” Julie shook her head. “John Thomas counted on Mary Ellen taking his word for everything, but she’s far too clever to accept all this without question. She’s written to Clay, and I’m so afraid—”
“We fully expected that, Mrs. Preble. Of course she’s written to Knight. And I’m sure he’s written to her as well, if he knows where she is. But all messages sent from either of them to the other will be safely intercepted, thanks to the thorough planning of Mr. Preble. Neither Mary Ellen nor Clay Knight will ever receive a letter or any kind of message from the other.” He smiled broadly then.
Julie Preble sighed, looked down at the pink tablecloth. “There’s yet another very real problem, Daniel.”
“Which is?”
Julie raised her head slowly, looked him in the eye. “Mary Ellen says she will not have dinner with you. Now or ever.”
Mary Ellen continued staunchly to refuse to have anything to do with the blondly handsome Daniel Lawton. But Daniel was very persistent. He wanted Mary Ellen Preble, and this was his chance. She was, at the moment, too weak and unhappy to effectively fight anyone for very long.
Daniel pressed his advantage.
Depressed, sick of the dark rainy London skies, Mary Ellen finally gave in and agreed to a visit at the Lawtons’ villa in the South of France.