by Jen Turano
“She was introduced to Harrison, along with everyone else I might add, when she boarded the ship.”
“True, but she wants to be introduced to him, if you know what I mean.”
Permilia shook her head. “Ah, of course she does, but . . . was she threatening to blackmail you with a ridiculous story about you trying to steal a painting?”
“She was.”
Permilia leaned forward. “You weren’t trying to return the painting to the wall and she walked in on you in the process, were you?”
“No, although I have almost been caught doing exactly that before—not that I was the one responsible for taking the painting in question, although . . .” Gertrude stopped talking and frowned. “How long have you known about my curious habit of returning items to their proper places?”
“I spent two years as an anonymous society columnist. That means I know what most people in society are up to, including Mrs. Davenport, so I’ve had my suspicions about your curious habit for quite some time now.” Her eyes suddenly sharpened on Gertrude as she leaned forward. “Forgive me for not inquiring about this before, but is there a reason why you’re lounging on that couch in a way that appears to be less than comfortable?”
“I’m stuck.”
“Honestly, Gertrude, you should have said so straightaway.” Rising to her feet, Permilia was soon standing right beside the couch, her brows drawn together as she looked Gertrude up and down. “It’s the bustle, isn’t it?”
“It broke when I lost my balance after I was checking behind the couch to see if Mrs. Davenport was hiding there.”
“You really are going to have to have a stern talk with your employer, Gertrude, because her antics are beginning to take a turn for the concerning, and I’m not simply talking about her less than legal pursuits at society events. Making you wear a bustle the size of which I’ve never imagined is hazardous to your health.”
Gertrude sighed. “I’ve been meaning to sit down with her for months to discuss her increasingly peculiar behavior, although I keep putting it off because she’s a lady far more fragile than the woman she presents to the world. She suffers from acute melancholy, but curiously enough, that melancholy seems to be held at bay when she’s creating her peculiar designs. She takes immense pleasure in turning out one new fashion after another. And having to wear her peculiar creations seems a small price to pay to see her happy, even if some of those creations are less than safe or comfortable to wear.”
“How uncomfortable is that bustle you’re wearing?”
“I would have to say extremely uncomfortable since numerous wires have come undone and are digging into my skin.”
“Then I say further discussions of your employer must wait until we get you more comfortable.” With that, Permilia bent over and began moving yards of fabric out of the way, her lips twitching with every yard of fabric she shoved aside. “How have you even been able to walk with all this wrapped around you?”
“It has not been without difficulty, but do have a care before you try to tug me free. I don’t want to ruin Harrison’s couch.”
“Harrison would not want you to remain in such an uncomfortable situation simply because of his couch. He considers you a friend, which means he, if he were present, would encourage me to do whatever it takes to set you free, no matter the damage that might occur to the upholstery in the process.”
“Speaking of my friendship with Harrison, Miss Flowerdew mentioned that society has taken to remarking on that.”
Permilia looked up. “I’m afraid Miss Flowerdew is right. I’ve had numerous young ladies approach me at the store of late to inquire about Harrison, now that they all seem to be arriving home from Paris and are stopping in the city to run a few errands before they travel to their summer homes. They’ve also been asking me about you, which means . . .”
“Ladies are going to become annoyingly friendly toward me in order to get closer to Harrison,” Gertrude finished for her.
“He won’t notice their attempts to attract his attention.”
“Which will only make him more of a challenge to them.”
“A challenge he’ll ignore since I’m of the belief he’s turned an interested eye your way.”
“An interested eye because he enjoys my company as a friend.”
“I imagine that friendship could turn into much more if you’d let him know, subtly of course, that you would welcome his affections, and not affections of strictly the friendship sort.”
Gertrude smiled. “I’ve heard rumors about people who’ve recently found the love of their life. Those rumors have it that lovestruck couples soon turn their thoughts to securing love matches for anyone in their direct vicinity who may not be otherwise engaged. And, while it is very sweet of you to even think Harrison would welcome the idea of a relationship other than friendship with me, I’m a realist at heart, and that realist knows that a gentleman like Harrison is far above my reach.”
“Of course he’s not.”
“Have you seen him?”
Permilia grinned. “I see him on an almost daily basis since he’s so close to Asher, and because of that, I’ve gotten to know him well. That is why I think the two of you would suit each other admirably. He’s a very giving man, you’re a very giving woman, and together, well, you’d make a charming couple.”
“I am not the type of lady to attract the attention of a gentleman like Harrison. My face is nothing special, my figure is a touch plumper than is considered fashionable, my hair, while a somewhat nice shade of gold, is usually ridiculously styled, a victim of Mrs. Davenport and her handy curling tongs, and . . . I have no wealth to speak of, which makes me less than a prize—all things Miss Flowerdew was trying to bring to my attention in a less than subtle way.”
“Your generous heart makes you more of a prize than any of the beauties of the day, but just so you know, your face and figure are quite pleasant. Why, if you’d simply allow me to style you, you’d look very fashionable indeed.”
“That would hurt Mrs. Davenport’s feelings. You know she fancies herself a stylist.”
Instead of looking bothered by the refusal, Permilia smiled. “And that right there proves my point about your generous heart. Harrison, if you haven’t noticed, is not concerned with matters of fashion, beauty, or anything of that nature. He also seems to enjoy spending time in your company, asks about you frequently, and even told me you’d promised to go sailing with him at some point this summer, a promise he recently mentioned you hadn’t bothered to keep.”
“He only asked me to go sailing because it’s an offer that’s expected of a man who owns an entire fleet of ships.”
Permilia shook her head. “You need to have more confidence in yourself. Harrison adores you and not simply as a friend.”
“He might rescind his friendship if I don’t find Mrs. Davenport soon, especially if she’s up to her usual shenanigans.”
Permilia blinked. “Goodness, I somehow managed to forget all about Mrs. Davenport being missing. How long has she been out of sight?”
“Over an hour.”
Straightening, Permilia squared her shoulders. “Which is undoubtedly concerning and means we have to get you unstuck sooner rather than later. And, while I’m certain you’re not going to like what I’m about to suggest, I don’t see that we have another alternative to your dilemma.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I’m afraid it is, because the only way I believe we’re going to get you free is for us to strip you straight out of that dress and abandon that bustle once and for all.”
Chapter
Three
Being herded into the small confines of a storage closet, while over a hundred guests mingled on the aft deck of his yacht, was not exactly what Mr. Harrison Sinclair had been expecting when his sister Margaret had insisted they remove themselves from the crowd to have a little chat. However, since Margaret was not a lady to stoop to such dramatics unless that drama was warranted, he pushed aside
the argument he longed to make regarding their surroundings, and waited to hear the matter of great urgency she needed to discuss.
As the seconds passed and Margaret didn’t bother to speak, he leaned closer to where he thought she was standing, not that he could see her in the total darkness that surrounded them, releasing a grunt when his head connected with the top of hers.
“Ouch! Honestly, Harrison, that hurt,” Margaret said in a voice that was no louder than a whisper.
Lowering his voice as well, even though he thought that might be taking the whole cloak-and-dagger routine a little far since they were well removed from where the guests were gathered, he rubbed his smarting forehead and straightened.
“Forgive me, Margaret, but if you hadn’t insisted on having your chat with me in this storage room, we wouldn’t currently be sporting throbbing heads. Was there something wrong with any of the other rooms on the yacht, such as the library, perhaps, or the cardroom?”
“I couldn’t take the chance of us being overheard.”
“Don’t you believe it may draw undue attention if someone observes us slinking out of the closet after we’re done with our chat?”
“We’ll simply say we were looking for a broom.”
“I’m not certain that’s a credible explanation. The guests onboard tonight are not the type who’d go off looking for a broom on their own, especially when there are members of the crew available to do such mundane tasks.”
“That type of thinking is exactly why I don’t care for society, but I doubt we’ll be observed since everyone seems to be having a delightful time of it topside. Because I know you won’t want to miss seeing everyone’s reaction to the surprise you arranged when the Cornelia arrives at West Brighton Beach, I’ll make this as quick as I can. Someone, I’m sorry to report, seems to be up to nefarious purposes on this very yacht even as we speak.”
“Nefarious purposes?” Harrison repeated.
“Indeed. A member of the crew sought me out in the wheelhouse to inform me that someone’s been skulking around on the lower decks. Shadows have apparently been spotted where shadows are not supposed to be, the result being that the crew is now walking about on pins and needles, looking over their shoulders every other minute.”
Harrison blinked even though the blinking did absolutely nothing worthwhile since sheer blackness still surrounded him. “Skulking around? That sounds a little . . .” He blinked again. “Wait a minute—before we get into the skulking business, you’re still supposed to be in the wheelhouse, minding the wheel no less.”
“Don’t be so overly theatrical, Harrison. It’s hardly as if I abandoned the wheel and left the yacht deprived of a steady hand. Adelaide took over for me.”
Without bothering to reply to that disturbing statement, Harrison tried to squeeze past his sister to get to the door, releasing a pent-up breath when he realized Margaret had stepped directly in front of that door and was blocking his way.
“I would suggest you let me by,” he said, not surprised when his most menacing of tones didn’t move his sister a single inch. “Please,” he added for good measure, which still did not sway his sister at all since she staunchly held her ground.
“Adelaide’s perfectly fine guiding this ship,” Margaret said.
“She’s barely more than a child, and if you’ve forgotten, Margaret, our family is currently responsible for the lives of over a hundred people who are on board this yacht. Allowing our baby sister to take over the helm is probably not the best way to be responsible for those lives.”
“Adelaide’s twenty, not a baby, and she’s more competent at the helm than most weathered captains I know given that she learned how to hold the wheel before she learned how to talk.”
“She’ll always be a baby to me.”
“Yes, well, I wouldn’t go out of your way to mention that to Adelaide. She’s a little sensitive about her age since everyone is constantly remarking about how young she looks. Why, to hear Adelaide tell it, God did her a grave disservice by bestowing abnormally round cheeks and baby blue eyes on her at birth. Evidently her face has become a trial for her because she’s not taken seriously within the shipping industry, what with the veterans of the industry constantly pointing out her overly feminine attributes.”
“While I would love nothing better than to discuss the abysmal plight of women and the unfortunate disregard for their many abilities by industrialists, I’m not certain this is the proper time. As for Adelaide and her disgruntlement with being born with a face that can only be described as arresting, she’s simply going to have to learn there’s nothing she can do about that other than to accept the sad burden of being beautiful.”
Margaret let out what might have been a sigh. “Your friend, Mr. Asher Rutherford, made the mistake of telling Adelaide earlier that her face would be a welcome sight in all the fashionable magazines and catalogs. He even went so far as to ask her if she would be willing to become the new ‘face’ of Rutherford & Company.”
Harrison wasn’t quite able to suppress a wince. “That wasn’t well-done of him.”
“Indeed, especially since Adelaide has now sworn off shopping at Rutherford & Company and is also refusing to come out of the wheelhouse. That state of affairs is distressing Edwina no small amount, who wants exactly the opposite of what Adelaide wants, and has taken to pestering Adelaide about joining her on the upper deck in the hopes that Asher will offer her the opportunity of becoming the face of Rutherford & Company. She, unsurprisingly, is more than anxious to have her face seen throughout New York, believing, or so she said, that becoming the fashionable face of the day will aid her in becoming accepted in all the right society circles.”
Harrison’s brows drew together. “While Edwina has mentioned a time or two that she wouldn’t be opposed to entering society, I didn’t realize she’d become so determined. However, if she truly wants to have Asher include her in a few print campaigns, I’m sure he’d be only too happy to do so. She does have the same face as Adelaide. And, now that I think about it, I wonder if Asher got the twins confused again, especially since I know I’ve remarked over the years how Adelaide has no interest in fashion, whereas Edwina does.”
“He might have done exactly that, which will soothe the put-out attitudes of both twins. But their tender feelings have nothing to do with our dastardly situation at hand. We need to discover who is skulking about and put a rapid end to it. I’m afraid talk below-deck is beginning to turn to ghosts.”
Harrison smiled. “I can’t claim to be surprised about that considering seamen are a rather superstitious lot, but . . .” His smile faded straightaway. “Why do I get the impression the whole we business really means me?”
“Because it’s more than likely that the person doing the skulking is one of Asher’s friends. Since he is your friend and I don’t mingle well with people, you’ll have to handle the situation, and do so in as discreet a manner as possible.”
Before Harrison could voice a single protest, Margaret opened the door, slipped through it, and left Harrison behind.
“I’d start in the engine room. That’s where the crew first noticed something odd,” she called over her shoulder before she disappeared up a short flight of stairs that sat between an intricate balustrade made of wrought iron designed by Tiffany Studios.
Knowing there was nothing to do but investigate the odd happenings on his yacht, even though there was the distinct possibility the peculiar situation was due to the overimagination of his crew, Harrison stepped from the storage closet. Nodding at a server who was making his way toward the very stairs Margaret had just used, he pretended not to see the curious look the man sent him. Helping himself to one of the stuffed mushrooms the server was carrying on a silver tray, Harrison thanked him and headed off down the companionway, making a note to seek out more of the delicious mushrooms just as soon as he finished his mission.
Walking down a different flight of stairs, he reached the deck that housed the engine room, galley, quar
ters for the crew, and storage areas for the coal they used to create the steam that powered the ship.
Pulling open the heavy metal door that led to the engine room, Harrison caught the attention of a few crew members, having to shout to be heard over the hissing and clanging of the machinery that was keeping the yacht moving at a fast clip.
By the time he was done asking his questions, he was hoarse from the shouting and didn’t have much to go on. The only consistent concern he’d heard from everyone was that shadows had been seen throughout different rooms, but when anyone of a brave nature went to investigate those shadows, nothing had been found.
After reassuring the crew that the shadows could not have been caused by any ghosts since the Cornelia was only a few years old and not a single person had ever died on board, which lent credence to the idea that there was no reason for the ship to be haunted, Harrison left the slightly relieved crew to their business.
He gave the galley only a cursory look because it was filled with servers and chefs he’d brought in for the night’s festivities, before moving on to the quarters where the crew slept. Not finding anything suspicious, he reached a flight of stairs that led to the staterooms, stopping dead in his tracks when a flicker of a shadow captured his attention from halfway up the stairs.
“Is someone there?” he called, peering up the stairs, which, unfortunately, were completely empty.
He was heading up the stairs, taking them two at a time, when he heard the distinct sound of footsteps above his head. Reaching the next deck, he headed down the companionway, stumbling to a stop when a very feminine form plowed directly into him, one belonging to none other than Mrs. Davenport—a well-regarded society matron, and the woman who happened to be the employer of Miss Gertrude Cadwalader.
The mere thought of Gertrude had his lips curving into a smile.
She was a lady he found to be undeniably delightful. Unlike many ladies he’d recently become acquainted with, Gertrude was a very sensible sort, possessed of a wonderful sense of humor and ability to accept the peculiarities life sent her way with a smile on her lovely face.