It was open, the lock broken. Scrawled on the door, in what appeared to be a child’s coloring pencil, were the words Lawyer, Go Home.
two
Matthew Templin cast a last longing glance at the remains of Miss Bell’s stew and pushed back his chair. If he was so concerned about her living on her own, he should be concerned enough not to let her walk home alone, even in broad daylight. His mother had, after all, raised him to have some manners. Even if Lucinda Bell had dismissed him like the hired help. Even if one glance from her crystal-blue eyes had sent his insides twisting like a sailor’s knot.
He laid his own silver on the table and headed for the door.
“Where you going, Matthew?” Gertie called from the kitchen doorway.
“Back to work”—he snatched his hat from the hat tree by the door and dropped it onto his head—“by way of the lady lawyer’s office.”
“Uh-huh.” Gertie sailed into the dining room and began to clear off tables. “Pretty, ain’t she?”
“I suppose I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t notice.”
Gertie chuckled. “I’d say you shouldn’t be handling a saw if you didn’t notice. Like as not, you’d cut off a few fingers.” She made a shooing motion toward the door. “Go after her. She’s too pretty to be strolling about on her own.”
“Or living on her own.” Matt opened the door then closed it again. “She’s living in that office of hers.”
“We wondered where she was staying. Gotta get her out of there. Good people in this town. No one will hurt her. But they won’t think she’s a good woman, living on her own like that.” Gertie scooped plates onto a tray with a rattle and crash of crockery and flatware.
“Mrs. Woodcocks already has some reservations.” Matt grimaced over the name of the mayor’s wife.
Gertie paused on her way to the kitchen. “And how would you be knowing that?”
“I’m repairing the paneling in their library. The wall is a bit thin between it and some sort of sitting room. And I should get to work on it, if I’m going to take a day off to fix up Miss Bell’s office.”
“You just walk past her place then. Tell her to come here for supper.”
“You’re not open for supper.” Matt grinned at her.
“Get going.” Gertie shoved the kitchen door open with her hip.
Matt departed through the front door, inhaling deeply of the crisp autumn air. Winter wasn’t far off. Frost, snow, warm fires—alone. One of these winters, he’d stop sharing his fire with no one other than his dog and cat and a good book. A wife would be a nice start, and a few children down the road.
Unbidden, the image of Lucinda Bell flashed through his mind—slightly above medium height and fairly slender, though it was hard to say with the way women cinched themselves up and wore puffy sleeves. Blond hair so pale it was almost silver, like moonlight. And eyes the clear crystal blue of a northern lake, all dressing for features strong enough to draw the eye, delicate enough to give her feminine beauty. Patrician beauty. Along with her soft, southern drawl, Matt knew what that meant—a lady far above the touch of a mere carpenter. So what if he was the best in the trade in at least three counties and at only twenty-six. She made it clear she thought he wasn’t good enough to carry a conversation with, let alone further an acquaintance with except on business terms. So he shouldn’t bother walking two blocks out of his way to make certain she had gotten home safely. Of course she had. This was Loveland, not Boston, and two o’clock in the afternoon, not two o’clock in the morning. Still, she might have encountered Mrs. Woodcocks along the route, a force not to be taken lightly.
❧
In the middle of the afternoon on a chilly day, the sidewalk proved nearly empty. He spotted the librarian ducking out for a breath of fresh air and tipped his hat to her. She’d been his teacher in grammar school and told him to go to college. As if a Templin would ever have the money for that. Still, she encouraged his reading. He would have to introduce her to the lady lawyer, who must read a great deal, too.
He shouldn’t think about the lady lawyer in any capacity except for work. Yet there she was before him. Above him, actually. She was poised on the edge of her landing as though about to raise her arms and take flight. Her face was ashen, and the door of her office home stood open.
Matt took the steps two at a time and caught her by the shoulders. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“Yes. No, I mean—” She gestured behind her. “A mean, nasty trick. Nothing more. But—” Her voice broke. Her face twisted.
“Wait here.” Matt slipped past her, approached the door. The words glared at him. A nasty trick indeed, and unusual. He didn’t know when something like this had ever happened in Loveland. “I’m going inside.” He glanced at her. “Have you been in to see if anything’s disturbed?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t know if someone might be there, waiting.” She hugged her arms across her middle and shivered as though the temperature were fifteen degrees instead of fifty. “I mean, it’s so nasty, so—”
“Unkind.” Matt reached out his hand but withdrew it before touching her cheek as he’d intended. He didn’t know her. He was the hired help, not some scion of a fine family. “I expect no one’s there. People who play nasty games like this don’t usually wait around in broad daylight.”
And how had someone managed it in broad daylight?
On the threshold, he glanced up and down the street—or what he could see of it. Not that much. The stairway, railing, and overhang of the roof sheltered the landing from a street view. More important than who remained why.
Mind completely blank on that score, Matt entered the office. If Lucinda hadn’t told him in Gertie’s that the place had been neglected, he would have thought she’d been vandalized. Only a scarred but high-quality oak desk remained of the furnishings he knew had once been simple but elegant. He would need more than a day to set the place to rights to his satisfaction.
Scanning the chamber from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, he continued to the back of the room. As in front, a grimy window lent the place light, along with two gas sconces on the walls. The front showed the street; the back showed the alley and the tree-shaded side yard belonging to Roger Stagpole, the town’s other attorney. An interesting choice for a legal office, and not accidental on the part of Lucinda’s predecessor, he’d bet, were he inclined to do such a thing. Easily, she could watch who entered and exited her competition’s house. With curtains at that window, he wouldn’t be able to do likewise unless the client came up the rear steps.
Those steps rose beneath the window, but the door must enter the other chamber. That room’s door was closed and appeared to have no lock on it. Matt didn’t want to enter it, if Miss Bell lived there.
He started to turn, to call out to her to enter, but a light fragrance, something sweet and floral he had missed in the café, touched his nostrils, warning him she had come in on quiet feet and must be near. He glanced back, feeling the impact of her clear gaze as he had in Gertie’s—like someone seizing his innards in an iron fist.
“I see everything’s all right in here.” She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Not that they could have done much damage.”
“No, but you’d better look at your room.” Matt gestured to the other door without looking at her again. “If the outside door enters there, it’s possible. . .” He didn’t say what was possible. She would know.
“There are two rooms, actually. A kind of storage room, and then mine. I suppose that will help keep the cold out in the winter.”
“Yes, which makes me think we should do something about this office. I see a radiator, so you should have plenty of heat from the steam, but cold air will come right through that door.”
She glided past him to the other door and twisted the glass knob. “What could you do?”
“Turn the landing into a foyer.”
“Truly?” She stood before him, gazing at him with those wide, bright eyes, and his mouth went dry.
“Would the owner let you?”
“I expect he would. It would make this more valuable space for an office.”
“Expensive?” Some of the light dimmed from her eyes.
To bring it back, Matt said, “No, I can use leftover materials from other jobs and work on my off times.”
For you.
“That’s such a kind thought, except—” Abruptly, she turned toward the door and shoved it open.
Her floral fragrance drifted to Matt’s face, stronger, as though she’d sprinkled more on the carpet than on her person. It made him think of warm summer days in a garden. Miss Bell glided into that garden, in this case, a rug—strewn with faded pink flowers, woven with some kind of green vine—her skirt sweeping the nap with a gentle whisper.
Like her, it was a neat room, a sitting room—not a bedchamber—with a sofa beneath the window, a small table and two chairs, a tall cupboard, and a smaller chest. She’d mentioned an icebox. It must be in the storage room where getting the ice to it would be easy. She also had a bathroom. Matt knew. He’d helped install it when he was an apprentice. At some time, the building’s owner thought to rent the space as an apartment, but then renting it as an office had proved more lucrative.
While Matt perused the room, Lucinda Bell inspected drawers and cupboards—the latter apparently holding clothing—then the back room. Matt wanted to follow her but didn’t feel right about stepping into her living quarters uninvited.
She reappeared in a moment. “All is well. Not so much as a chunk of ice disturbed.”
“We can assume mischief makers only, then,” Matt said, his smile cheerful. “I expect some boys thought it would be fun to frighten the newest lady in town. Still”—he sobered—“you can’t stay here until that lock is fixed.”
“I suppose there’s a locksmith?” She knit her delicate brows. “Or something like that.”
“There is, but the door is damaged.” Matt retraced his steps to the front door and examined the latch.
Indeed, someone seemed to have given it a good, hard kick.
“A locksmith won’t fix this. This is cracked right through the panels.”
A swish of fabric on boards, the encircling fragrance—Lucinda, close beside him. “I’ll pay extra if you fix it today.”
Of course she would. Society ladies always thought they could have what they wanted with money. So did the men, for that matter. They’d demanded, through money, his mother into her grave. Matt swore he wouldn’t let money rule him, wouldn’t allow it to kill him. But he did like his little cottage and garden, small though they were, and the woman who cooked and cleaned for him liked payment.
“I can get a new door and locks on here tonight.” He turned to look down at her. “No extra pay necessary. Call it my welcome-to-Loveland gift.”
“I couldn’t. That is, you’re too generous. Surely your family wants you home.” Her cheeks glowed, not quite a blush, but a heightened pink pearlescence beneath her skin.
“No family.” Matt shrugged off the twinge in his heart over no family. “Just a cat and dog. Now, if you’ll fetch some things, I’ll help you take them down to Gertie’s. She’ll find you a good place to stay for the night.”
And hopefully keep Miss Bell there, especially if town vandals thought the young woman made a fine target.
She hesitated a moment, then nodded and retreated to the sitting room. Matt walked down the steps and slipped into the harness shop to ask the owner if he’d noticed anyone going up the steps. He hadn’t. No windows in the shop looked out on the side or rear steps. By the time Matt returned, Miss Bell had packed her valise and carpetbag. From its weight, Matt decided the latter held nothing but books.
“Let’s go down the alley,” he suggested. “Gertie won’t have the front open any longer, and you’re less likely to encounter the ladies’ aid society.”
“Is that what I saw going into the little tea shop?” She trotted alongside him with athletic vigor and speed, as though she was used to long, brisk walks. “What looked like ten or so grand dames sailing along beneath their feathers?”
Matt laughed aloud. “An apt description, but I’d think you’d want to be there.”
“I wasn’t invited.”
“You sound rather cheerful about that.”
“Of course.” Her footfalls crunched in companionable rhythm with his on the gravel alleyway. “They’re having tea and scones and discussing—what? The next town festival? While I am wondering who dislikes lady lawyers enough to vandalize my office. Which would you prefer?”
He glanced at her, caught a sparkle in her blue eyes, and laughed. “I believe I see what you mean. Here’s Gertie’s.”
With a sense of regret that lent itself to a sense of relief, he reached the back door to the Love Knot Café. It stood open to a cloud of steam smelling of carbolic acid. Gertie and her obsession with cleanliness, not that anyone complained. No one got sick eating at her establishment, unlike other places. He called to her, not wanting to drag Miss Bell inside with the caustic fumes.
“Who wants me?” Gertie appeared in the doorway, face and hands damp and red. “Matthew, what’s— Ah, Miss Bell, decided you don’t want to stay alone up there after all? No trouble. I have more than enough room upstairs.”
“It’s more than that.” Matt glanced at Lucinda. “Someone broke the lock on her door and left a rude message behind.”
“Get out of here.” Gertie’s face grew even redder. “Who would do a thing like that? Wait, never you mind. Come on in, child. How distressing for you. You’re going to fix it for her, aren’t you, Matthew?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Matt headed for Gertie’s outside stairway. “I’ll just carry these up so I can get to work. The Woodcockses aren’t paying me to play bellman, so I have to get a bit more work in there.” At the foot of the steps, he paused, unable to resist, and set the bags down so he could return and hold out his hand to Miss Bell. “I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early.”
She slipped her hand, soft enough to belong to any lady at the tea shop, into his as he’d hoped she would, her handshake firm. “Thank you.” And she smiled.
That smile turned her eyes from ice blue to aquamarine—a smile holding enough warmth to go right through him and nearly make his jacket unnecessary on the chilly autumn day. A smile that made his step light all the way to the mayor’s mansion. It hadn’t been condescending in the least, but kind, appreciative, beautiful—as she was kind, appreciative, beautiful.
She was also educated and came from people who owned a lot of land. Above his touch, his mother would say. “She’s above your touch, Mattie.”
What female in town wasn’t? Unless he pursued the girls who worked as maids to get enough money to run off to the city to be actresses or shopgirls or maids in bigger houses, where the excitement ran. He was an artisan, not a businessman. Young women wanted to marry wealthy men, or men with the potential to be wealthy. He would be comfortable all his life, he expected, but never wealthy. His hands were calloused and scarred.
And he’d held Lucinda Bell’s hand for just that moment, so soft a hand he’d probably scraped it with his own rough paw.
Even a lady lawyer would want a man of means, or would gain enough means of her own to not want a husband who settled for perfection of his craft over wealth. So he should stop the nonsense of this giddy, schoolboy crush. In so many ways, she wasn’t for the likes of him.
He slipped into the Woodcockses’ through the back door, nodded to their cook at work on dinner, and made his way to the library, a room in desperate need of repair. Someone—the mayor’s seventeen-year-old stepson, the story went about town—had fallen asleep while smoking and caught the paneling on fire. An alert housekeeper had caught it and extinguished it before more than a few books had been destroyed, but the floor and paneling on one wall needed complete replacement. Because the house was old and the paneling ornate, Matt needed to inlay each piece of flooring and wall covering with care and precision, just the sort
of work he loved. Completing it would take him weeks, as he was still in the process of removing the ruined wood without damaging the plasterwork above. Another two hours should finish this first part of the job. Darkness would fall before he finished, but Miss Bell’s office possessed enough lights to work after dark.
He didn’t want the rooms open and unoccupied for the night. Yes, he could presume senseless vandalism caused the damage, a mean prank, nothing more. And even senseless vandals returned for worse damage.
If only he believed in those senseless vandals. If only he hadn’t overheard that conversation between the mayor and his wife the day before, saying they would make Miss Bell’s life as uncomfortable as possible until she left town. If only the paneling in the library lay against a solid wall instead of merely more paneling to the next room, allowing sound to carry through like a partially open window.
Matt crouched on the smoke-dulled floor and ran his hands over the next panel, seeking the miniscule nails beneath the varnish now black from the fire, trying not to feel a twinge of guilt.
He should tell Miss Bell what he knew. Except, he knew nothing for certain. He’d heard a mere snippet of a conversation and could draw a number of conclusions from it. No sense in making trouble where none might be intended. If worse occurred, then he would tell her. And nothing worse than a scare or two would happen. Matt didn’t like the mayor and his wife, but he didn’t have to like them to believe them not capable of a potential crime.
His mind more at peace, he worked the panel free, then another, then another. He settled into the rhythm of the work, accompanied by the light hiss of the gaslights a maid entered to light so he could work better in the fading afternoon, the aromas of wood and paint perfumes to his soul. He stroked every sliver of wood, inspecting it for damp or vermin infestation, for worse damage than smoke. None of the former, too much of the latter. A filthy, dangerous habit, smoking. Fire destroyed so much beautiful wood.
Carpenter's Inheritance Page 2