by Jen Turano
Realizing it would be less than prudent to allow Mrs. Davenport too much time to organize what would surely turn into yet another fiasco, Gertrude stripped off her ruined clothing, hurried through a bath in a marble tub that was so enormous a person could practically swim in it, then towel-dried her hair. Slipping into blissfully clean and dry clothing, she arranged her still wet hair into a knot on top of her head. Slipping her feet into the first pair of shoes she found, she bolted for the door and dashed out of the room.
By the time she reached the main floor, she was somewhat winded. Not wanting to draw everyone’s attention to that sad state of affairs, she drew in a few deep breaths, and once her breathing returned to normal, she walked down the hall at a pace that wouldn’t leave her wheezing again, entering the library a moment later.
What she found inside the library stopped her in her tracks, her gaze traveling over what appeared to be a least a hundred different articles of clothing, all hanging from racks with wheels on them.
“Surprise!” Permilia exclaimed, stepping out from behind one of the racks and beaming at Gertrude. “I hope you don’t mind, but after hearing what happened to you, I decided to change my surprise of having you and Harrison sit down to tea with me and Asher to . . .” She gestured to the racks.
“But what is all this?” Gertrude asked as Asher stepped from behind a rack that seemed to be filled with clothing for gentlemen, and then Edwina, in the company of Agent McParland, popped up from where they’d been hidden behind a lovely fainting couch done up in blue.
“Harrison is treating you to an entirely new wardrobe to make up for the fact he almost gave you a heart attack earlier and lost you a most charming outfit of your own in the process,” Edwina said.
Gertrude turned and found Harrison sitting on a settee, looking mildly confused while Mrs. Davenport poured him a cup of tea.
“I can’t accept such an extravagant gesture” was all Gertrude could think to say.
“Of course you can’t,” Mrs. Davenport surprised her by saying. “Which is why I’ll be picking up the bill for today’s fun to make amends for all the embarrassment you’ve suffered over the years on my behalf.”
“And I’ll be picking up the bill for the clothing I’m sure all of you have noticed I just happened to have chosen for Harrison,” Asher said as he rubbed his hands together in glee. “I’ve been itching to be presented with an opportunity to freshen up Harrison’s wardrobe.”
“I don’t really think I need to be freshened up,” Harrison argued.
Asher completely ignored that statement, turning toward the door instead and letting out a whistle, which had several members of the staff from Rutherford & Company walking into the room.
Before Gertrude could voice even the smallest of protests, she found herself led to a screened-off section of the library that had been erected for her use, while Harrison was led to a smaller room that connected with the library, muttering protests as he was led, none of which Asher addressed.
It quickly became clear that the staff from Rutherford & Company knew their business. They had her out of her garments and into new ones so quickly, she barely had time to blink before they gave her a gentle shove and she found herself standing on the other side of the curtain, where Edwina, Agent McParland, and Mrs. Davenport sent her nods of clear approval. Permilia and Asher, on the other hand, eyed her critically.
“I think the blue one next,” Permilia called. “It’ll go well with her hair.”
Gertrude looked down at the lovely green she was wearing. “The green doesn’t go well with my hair?”
“Of course it does, but blue will be striking, and . . .”
Everything else Permilia said got lost when Harrison suddenly stepped out from his dressing area, looking stylish in gray trousers, a white shirt, a gray jacket with pinstripes, and a tie that Gertrude was certain she’d seen bankers wear at her bank.
Even though he looked devastatingly handsome, something about his appearance was wrong.
Marching across the room, she stopped in front of the rack that held the clothes marked for Harrison and began riffling through them, smiling when she spotted the perfect jacket and waistcoat for him. Pulling them down, she turned and displayed her choices to the room at large. “I think this is more to Harrison’s tastes.”
Silence was the first reaction, before Asher cleared his throat.
“I only brought that jacket, Gertrude, because it was the only one I could find that had a thread of orange to it. And then I found that waistcoat, which is definitely orange, but it’s merely a sample from a vendor, and a color I rejected because, well, it speaks for itself.”
Gertrude lifted her chin. “I love it, and I want to see him in this, along with . . .” She turned back to the rack, found a pair of charcoal colored pants with a bit of a plaid, then marched her way over to Harrison and handed him her choices. “Off you go.”
Sending her a warm look and a smile that made her knees go weak again, Harrison inclined his head and disappeared from sight. Not caring for the knowing looks she was getting from Edwina, Mrs. Davenport, Permilia, and even Agent McParland, who was now enjoying a cup of tea, Gertrude headed back to her dressers, finding herself redressed in the blink of an eye in the blue gown Permilia had suggested.
Stepping into the room again, she found Harrison already standing there, looking rather pleased with the outfit she’d chosen for him as he looked in a floor-length mirror Asher had evidently brought over from his store. Given that Asher didn’t appear completely horrified by the outfit she’d picked out for Harrison, she smiled and moved farther into the room.
Any thought she may have had about commenting on Harrison’s appearance, though, disappeared straightaway when he turned from his reflection and saw her. His mouth dropped open, and then he was striding across the room toward her. Stopping directly in front of her, he reached for her hands, lifted them, then placed a kiss on each one.
“How extraordinary you look, Gertie. Quite possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
For what seemed like forever, Gertrude could not get a single word past her lips, until she managed an impressive “Oh my” right as Harrison kissed her hand again, then cleared his throat and suddenly began to look rather nervous.
“There’s much I need to say to you,” he began. “And while this is not exactly how I planned this, I need to . . .”
“Hold your tongue before you make the biggest mistake of your life.”
Chapter
Twenty-Five
“Oh, this is unfortunate,” Harrison heard Edwina say right as his mother marched her way across the library, her eyes darting about the room, and her color turning more concerning with every step she took. Coming to a stop in front of Harrison, she sent a pointed look at Gertrude’s hand that he’d been lingering over, then thankfully, leaned to the right, and let out a sound like an angry cat when she spotted Edwina sitting directly next to Agent McParland on the fainting couch.
“It would seem as if I got here in the nick of time,” Cornelia began, stepping around Harrison to march her way over to Edwina. “If memory serves me correctly, dear, you allowed me to believe you were off to this school to better acquaint yourself with the programs offered here.” She drew herself up. “However, you neglected to mention Miss Cadwalader was to be present, or—” she shot a look to Agent McParland, who’d now risen to his feet and was watching Cornelia warily—“a gentleman I’ve yet to meet but who seems far too comfortable in your company, or . . .” She spun around and pointed a finger to Mrs. Davenport. “If I’m correct in my assumption, and given the unusual manner in which that lady is dressed, that’s Mrs. Davenport, a woman, Edwina, I distinctly recall telling you to steer clear of.”
Harrison winced when Edwina pushed herself up from the fainting couch and narrowed her eyes at her mother.
“You’ve been unreasonable with your opinion of Mrs. Davenport and Gertrude,” Edwina said. “And while I do apologize fo
r not being more forthcoming about this gentleman—” she paused to smile fondly at Agent McParland—“I wasn’t certain you’d be accepting of my spending time with a Pinkerton detective, especially when I’ve decided my new goal in life is to join their illustrious ranks.”
“Agent Samuel McParland at your service, Mrs. Sinclair,” Agent McParland said, impressing Harrison in spite of himself when the man executed a perfect bow toward Cornelia even though she was obviously seething with animosity.
“While I’m sure that under different circumstances, I’d be just delighted to meet you, Agent McParland, I’m far too annoyed with my daughter for purposefully withholding information from me to appreciate making your acquaintance.” Cornelia spun around and pinned Harrison with a furious scowl. “Why were you holding Miss Cadwalader’s hand?” she demanded.
Realizing this was not the moment to divulge what he’d been intending, because that would diminish what should be a moment Gertrude could cherish for the rest of her life, Harrison forced a smile. “What are you doing here, Mother?”
“I came to find Edwina because I’ve recently experienced a most disturbing situation that I needed her assistance with, a situation that coincidentally concerns Miss Cadwalader and Mrs. Davenport.” She cast a glare Edwina’s way. “I had no idea I’d find you and your brother cozying up to the enemy.”
“Enemy?” Harrison repeated.
Cornelia gave a jerk of her head. “Exactly. Which is why I suppose it is a fortuitous circumstance I stumbled on you here, and before you were able to do something ridiculous such as declaring your affections for the oh-so-scheming Miss Cadwalader, a declaration I’m afraid you’d live to regret for the rest of your days.”
Gertrude pulled the hand he was still holding back, and even though her color was now leaching out of her face, she lifted her chin and nodded to his mother.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mrs. Sinclair,” Gertrude began. “I’ve done nothing that could be considered disturbing of late, although you seem to believe otherwise.”
Cornelia crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re very good with the innocent act, dear, but I’ve found you out. Margaret told me the other day about your interest in my painting, an interest that was disclosed to her by some well-meaning lady from what I understand.” She shook her head. “Imagine my disbelief when I traveled to the Cornelia today to have her readied for a trip I need to take this week, and discovered that my painting is no longer hanging on the wall in the library, nor is it to be found anywhere on the ship.”
“Oh . . . dear,” Harrison heard Gertrude mumble before she lifted her chin another notch. “I’m sorry to hear about your painting, Mrs. Sinclair, but I assure you, I did not take it.”
“Nor would she have had any time to take it, Mother,” Edwina said, stepping up next to Gertrude and entwining their arms together. “I’ve been in Gertrude’s company often since she was released from jail, and she’s spent the majority of her time over the past few days moving her belongings, as well as Mrs. Davenport’s belongings, here to the school.”
“An obvious ruse to muddy the waters,” Cornelia said with a wave of her hand.
Harrison stepped closer to his mother—a risky move if there ever was one, but one that needed to be taken. “Mother, I know you’ve been worried of late with all the changes that seem to be happening so quickly, but you’re wrong about Gertrude and Mrs. Davenport. Yes, Mrs. Davenport did have a little . . . er . . . problem with helping herself to items that did not belong to her, but there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation behind her peculiar habit, and never once did she keep any of the items she helped herself to.” He reached out and gave her arm a squeeze. “I was under the impression after our talk before I left for Boston that you understood the circumstances surrounding Mrs. Davenport’s idiosyncrasies. And that you were sympathetic toward her because of the pain she’d suffered in her past.”
Cornelia lifted her chin. “I was sympathetic to Mrs. Davenport’s plight, and remorseful as well about having Miss Cadwalader carted off to jail. However, that sympathy and remorse died a rapid death the moment I discovered someone—and let us not dither about who that someone is—stole my painting.”
Asher suddenly cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. To Harrison’s confusion, his friend was fishing his copy of the list—the one with all the romantic gestures written on it—out of his pocket. After perusing that list for a second, Asher looked to Harrison. “Forgive me for interrupting, but could this missing painting perhaps be gesture number five?”
For the briefest of seconds, Harrison simply stared back at his friend, having no recollection of what gesture number five was, but knowing full well he’d not made his mother’s most treasured painting disappear to perpetuate that gesture.
“I don’t recall what gesture number five is, but do know that none of the gestures can be used to explain how my mother’s painting went missing.”
Asher stuffed the list back into one of his many pockets. “That’s too bad, and number five was solving a mystery, if you wanted to know, however . . .” He turned back to Mrs. Sinclair. “I’ve forgotten my manners.” Walking over to Cornelia, he took her hand and kissed it. “You’re looking lovely today, Mrs. Sinclair. The color in your cheeks is very becoming.”
“Put there by my children no doubt, but thank you, Asher. And this must be your lovely fiancée, Miss Griswold. I neglected to see her as well, being so consumed with all the many intrigues floating around this room and all.”
Permilia moved forward, and to Harrison’s relief, she took hold of his mother’s hands, smiled, and then drew Cornelia into a hug. She stepped back a moment later. “Do call me Permilia, Mrs. Sinclair, since I’m certain we’ll eventually turn into fast friends, given how close Asher and Harrison are. Because of that closeness, and because of my closeness to Gertrude, I feel I must speak up and defend my friend since you’re a bit off the mark about her. Gertrude is one of the kindest, sweetest, most generous ladies I know, and I don’t think you’ll want to continue discouraging Harrison from . . . well, whatever it was he was about to do.”
Harrison was not reassured when his mother took a step back from Permilia. “I’m afraid I cannot give my blessing to a woman I feel has fooled everyone she encounters. My painting is missing, one of my daughters has been encouraged by Miss Cadwalader and Mrs. Davenport to lead a society life, although it now appears she’s also been encouraged by someone to pursue a career as a detective, which—” she nodded to Edwina—“is a far better choice than entering society, but still.” Cornelia drew in a breath. “Miss Cadwalader has somehow slipped through my son’s defenses and wormed her way into his heart. That is not an easy challenge to undertake nor find success with, and that right there has convinced me she’s a charlatan of the worst sort.”
She swung her attention to Gertrude. “While I was willing to forgive you for lying your way onto the Cornelia to replace the items Mrs. Davenport helped herself to, I won’t forgive you for deceiving my son or for beginning to build a friendship with Edwina.”
“And yet I imagine Gertrude will easily forgive you, Mrs. Sinclair, for casting aspersions on her good name after I prove to you you’re completely mistaken about her stealing your painting.”
As everyone turned toward the door, Harrison found Miss Henrietta walking into the room, her pace less than hurried.
“Who, pray tell, are you?” Cornelia demanded. “And how in the world do you know my name since I know full well we’ve never been introduced?”
“I’m Miss Henrietta Huxley. You may call me Henrietta, though, which means I’ll feel free to address you as Cornelia. As to how I know you, let me simply say I make it a point of always being well informed.” Miss Henrietta smiled. “I must admit I’ve spent many an hour admiring that fine-looking husband of yours from afar, and might have even been known to admire your rascal of a son a time or two as well.”
Cornelia arched a delicate brow. “I’m su
re I have no idea how anyone expects me to respond to that.”
Miss Henrietta arched a brow right back at her. “I would suggest you say ‘thank you,’ since I was obviously complimenting you on your wonderful taste in gentlemen as well as complimenting the stellar good looks of your son. But enough of the pleasantries. You’ve leveled an accusation at our dear Gertrude, which I can understand, given Gertrude’s rather suspicious situation on board the Cornelia. However, because I’ve concluded you’re normally a very rational lady—because how could you not be, being the mother of such upstanding children—I’m going to simply present you with evidence of Gertrude’s innocence and allow you to form your own conclusion.”
“Is that presentation of the evidence going to result in my arresting anyone?” Agent McParland suddenly asked.
“I should say not, although how delightful to find you here, Agent McParland,” Miss Henrietta said with a knowing look sent to Edwina. “May I assume matters are progressing nicely between the two of you?”
Edwina’s eyes widened, and she sent a not-so-subtle nod in the direction of her mother, which had Miss Henrietta sending Edwina a bit of a wink in reply. “Ah yes, too right you are. Probably not the best time to broach that particular topic. So, moving right along, allow me to present my evidence.” She turned toward the door and gestured to it with a flourish of her hand, frowning when nothing appeared. Clearing her throat, she gestured again. “My evidence,” she repeated a little louder than before, but still, nothing.
Releasing a sigh, she marched toward the door, stopping a mere foot away from it. “Temperance, you’re ruining the moment by not appearing on cue,” she practically bellowed.
A second later, Temperance appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath, and looking decidedly disheveled as well as a little wild about the eyes.
“Goodness, Temperance,” Gertrude said, stepping forward. “What happened to you?”