by Holly Bush
“I can smell my attacker’s breath, I swear, when I wake up in the middle of the night,” O’Brien said. “I can feel his spittle hit my ear and cheek as he whispered all the foul things that would happen to my father, and to Sean and to you.”
Jennifer rose. “Mr. Moran is going to see to my safety, personally. I will no longer be in a position to be tormented by Jeffrey Rothchild at home or at the bank. When you are ready, I am certain he would guard you, too, if you chose to come as well.”
O’Brien wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. “No. I can’t. Please do not ask me to.”
“Do not worry one second. Stay here and get well and let your father and brother care for you. You are barely out of your sickbed!”
“I cannot do it.”
“Then you must not.”
* * *
“Father, may I speak to you?” Jennifer asked as she stepped through the door to his study.
“Certainly, my dear. Have a seat. Shall I ring for coffee?”
“If you wish, Father. I have some important things to discuss with you.”
“Important things, my dear?”
Jennifer watched a maid roll in the coffee cart and proceeded to pour for her father. But she did not sit down when she finished. There was too much at stake to be casual. “I believe O’Brien was attacked because of what she and I have discovered at the bank.”
“At the bank? How could that have anything to do with what happened to Miss O’Brien? She should have never been on that street. It is unsafe, and she is the proof.”
“No Father. It was not random. She was a target, and her family was threatened.”
“You must have the wrong of this. Perhaps she is hysterical.”
“She is terrified. Not hysterical.”
“It is a horrible lesson learned for a young woman. Her father is surely tormented by it.”
Jennifer stepped closer to the desk and waited until her father placed his cup that he had been contemplating in some seriousness in its saucer and looked up at her. “O’Brien did nothing wrong. There was no lesson as a consequence of bad behavior, but there was a message. She was attacked because we have found something unscrupulous in the Dorchester portfolio and have been making inquiries about our concerns.”
“Unscrupulous? How absurd! There has been a mathematical error made. That is all.”
She shook her head. “You are wrong, Father. I believe someone is pocketing money and hiding the difference in the percentages the bank charges in interest.”
“That cannot be. We could see it if the debits and credits did not balance.”
“It is hidden in the credit column as if the pilfered funds were redeposited.”
“But then we would see it in the cash balance.”
“I suppose it depends on the accountant who is doing the cash balance for that month.”
William Crawford rose from behind his desk. “Are you implying that one of the vice presidents of the bank is falsifying records?”
“Yes, I am,” she said. “I cannot yet prove it—”
“Of course you can’t!” he shouted. “Because it is not true!”
“I cannot yet prove it, but I believe Jeffrey Rothchild is embezzling money.”
“Jeffrey Rothchild?” her father said in disbelief. “You asked me to hire him after you had just met him last spring! Yet you went to your sister’s last month to escape him and an impending engagement, but at the Randolph dinner you were his fiancée. And now you are accusing him of theft? You must say nothing about this to anyone! We could have a run! Rumors such as this have brought banks to their ends before, and if word was out, Jeffrey would never be hired in Boston again!”
“You are concerned about Jeffrey?”
“Of course I am! He is a vice president of the Crawford Bank! Any aspersions cast upon him will reflect on the bank. People will say that you have argued with your fiancé and now are spreading rumors about him. We do not need anyone to know about this or speculate on the bank’s liquidity or trustworthiness. You must obey me on this.”
“It would be better for these errors to be exposed during a bank audit? We would never survive the aftermath. Creditors would be lined up at our door if the Comptroller of Currency for Federal Banks were to find an inconsistency.”
Crawford dropped into his seat and stared away at the fire burning brightly in the fireplace. He sat silently for some long minutes. “I will look into this personally,” he said, and looked up at Jennifer. “But I will not have a good man slandered over delicate female sensibilities. I have dealt with that all of my life.”
“Female sensibilities?” Jennifer whispered. She should tell her father now, right this very second, she thought, about Jeffrey’s violent nature. But she did not. How could she reveal that she’d allowed it? That perhaps she was deserving of it? And what would she do? Open her blouse and lift her chemise and show him the faded bruises?
She had just recently concluded that perhaps she’d sought out the man who would be able to humiliate her much like her mother had done to her all of her life. That she was accustomed to that treatment and comfortable with it. Wasn’t that what was said about children and their parents, after all? Her father had concluded she was the manipulative one and cruel like his wife, and she’d always viewed herself as a victim of Jane’s moods, or insanity as Jolene insisted, and now Jeffrey’s. And beyond it all, she was still embarrassed and now more than ever knowing that her revelation provoked her father to be compassionate to another of his gender who was at the mercy of the females in his sphere. But had she not just promised herself to convince her father otherwise?
“You will find I am right about the Dorchester portfolio. I never once said I was Jeffrey’s fiancée at the Randolph party, but it was said by someone. I didn’t deny it because Mother was ill and she had already made herself look a fool. I didn’t want to fan any fires.”
“A fool?” he said and rose, wandering to the window and presenting Jennifer with his back. “She seemed quite popular with the young people.”
“Popular? Her preoccupation with Fitzhugh made her a laughingstock.”
He turned. “Do not speak of your mother this way. It is not dignified.”
“Oh, Father,” she said, and shook her head slowly. “There is talk about Mother . . . about her peculiarities. Her behavior reflects on the bank as well. We are in a precarious situation.”
He turned to the coffee cart, refilled his cup and looked up at her with a smile, as if the previous conversation had not happened. “More coffee, my dear?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I must check in with Mrs. Gutentide on this week’s menu.”
* * *
“You consider this serious enough that you would quit working for Maximillian?” Jolene asked Zeb.
“Yes. Your sister has not told me the details, but I feel her life is in danger,” he said. “I will escort you back to Washington and then return immediately to Boston.”
“If it is that dangerous, you must stay with Jennifer. We will make some other arrangements for my travel.”
“No. I will not break my word to Max. I will see you home and travel back the following day. I have contracted with a young man working at Willow Tree. Luther is his name, and he has been in your family’s employ since he was very young and is a friend to your sister’s maid. Luther is to guard Jennifer as best as he is able. I told him if he is dismissed or threatened, he will come work for me. Miss Crawford has no outside engagements for the time I am away so I am hoping all will be well until I return.”
Jolene sat stiffly in the brightly flowered settee in the study of her brother-in-law, Calvin Billings, her hands folded in her lap. “It is Mr. Rothchild, is it not? What has he done to her?”
“It is not my secret to tell. But I will not allow anything to happen to her. I will guard her with my life as I have already told her,” he said.
Calvin touched Jolene’s shoulder. “If for any reason Mr. Moran canno
t return by Sunday evening, Eugenia and I will arrive at Willow Tree, collect Jennifer, and be her escort at the Boston Hospital Soiree. I will not let her out of my sight, and Mr. Moran has already arranged for additional protection at the hotel.”
“Have you spoken to my father about your concerns?” she asked.
Zeb shook his head. “That is for your sister to do, and I’m not sure he would believe me anyway.”
“Maximillian is not going to like this,” she said. “He considers Jennifer to be in our family sphere. He is going to want to take the next train to Boston and have a word with Mr. Rothchild.”
“Max has state matters that must keep him in Washington. I have already spoken to your sister. She has agreed to allow me to guard her while she solves . . . other issues.”
“What other issues?” Jolene asked. “You must tell me.”
Zeb shook his head. “It is not my place to say, but she has not told me either. You should talk to your sister before you leave for Washington.”
“I will. I’ll be dining at Willow Tree tonight.”
He sat down beside Jolene. “Please do not allow yourself to be alone with Mr. Rothchild. I believe the point of his aggressiveness is your sister, but he has already proven to be the type of man who would use terror to get his way. I cannot sufficiently guard both of you, and I will be focusing on Miss Crawford’s safety as I think she is the one most at risk.”
“So I shall pretend to be helpless and not stray far from my father’s arm?” Jolene said and raised her brows. “And how ridiculous you sound referring to Jennifer as Miss Crawford. You are in love with her. There is no need to stand on ceremony with me or with Calvin, as he is my family, and therefore Jennifer’s as well.”
“I never said, I would never presume to . . . Miss Crawford and I have no understanding other than that I will guard her as she goes about her business and the bank’s business.”
She rose and straightened her dress. “I have no doubt you would slay a battalion of men for the safety of my sister. You are brave other than in matters of the heart. I will speak to Jennifer this evening and unearth her secrets if she is willing to share them.”
Zeb watched her sweep out of the room, her yellow silk dress swirling, leaving a rose scent in her wake. Calvin Billings was staring at him. “She is the most exasperating woman I have ever had the misfortune of knowing. How Max lives with her is a mystery,” Zeb said.
Calvin laughed. “Max is hopelessly in love. He dotes on her and she him. Jolene can be sharp-tongued but she is not stupid. In fact, she is very perceptive.”
Zeb stood outside of Jennifer’s room that evening waiting to escort her to dinner. It would doubtless be interesting or contentious, as Jeffrey Rothchild would be joining them that night at Mrs. Crawford’s request. He had watched the man himself enter the front doors a few minutes ago from his vantage point on the second floor balcony across from Jennifer’s suite, and drop his hat and coat into Bellings’s arms with no acknowledgment that the butler existed other than to serve him.
On his way from Calvin Billings’s home, Zeb had stopped the Willow Tree carriage driver six blocks away and walked the final distance to clear his head and think about what Jolene had said. Love? This was love? This ache he felt when he saw Jennifer? This nearly uncontrollable urge to shoot Jeffrey Rothchild between the eyes even if it meant prison or worse? But more than all of it, more than anything, he longed to see her smile. There was nothing in his world or memory to compare to what he felt when she looked at him and smiled. When he evoked her image in his mind it was of the night of the ball in Washington when she was talking about her work at the bank. Her face was radiant, and she was lovely, as she spoke with enthusiasm and passion for the work she did. The door across the hallway opened.
“Mr. Moran. You are waiting for me here?”
“Yes,” he said, and pushed himself away from the ornate bannister. “I want to make sure that I escort you into the dining room myself.”
“Yes, of course,” she said. She looked at his arm as he held it out for her, hesitating as if taking it spelled some greater commitment than walking beside him down the staircase.
They entered the dining room, and Jeffrey turned to her from where he stood beside William Crawford. His smile faded when he saw her arm looped through Zeb’s. Rothchild walked directly to them.
“You may release my fiancée,” he said.
Zeb looked down at Jennifer. “Miss Crawford, which seat would you like to take? Perhaps here beside your sister and father?”
Jennifer nodded, careful to not meet Rothchild’s eyes.
“There is a seat beside me and we have much to discuss, Jennifer. Come,” Rothchild demanded and winged his arm for her to take.
“She’s already chosen her seat,” Zeb said, steering her past Rothchild’s arm and holding her chair out until she was seated and her skirts tucked beneath her. He moved a mere foot away from her and stared at Rothchild.
“You had best find the kitchens, boy,” Rothchild said. “I won’t have you being so familiar with my fiancée.”
“Jennifer!” Jane Crawford said from her seat at the head of the table. “Mr. Rothchild wants you to sit beside him. How rude you are being!”
Jennifer turned her head to her mother. “I prefer to sit here.”
“How formal we are being,” Jolene said, and walked to the seat beside Jennifer. Zeb pulled out her chair. “There is an open seat to Mother’s left, Mr. Rothchild. We didn’t assign seating this evening.”
Rothchild rounded the table and seated himself with a flourish, nearly knocking over the young man holding his chair. Zeb left Jennifer’s side then, and walked to his seat beside Rothchild.
“The Boston Hospital Soiree is Sunday evening next,” Rothchild said to Jennifer. “I will be escorting you, and we shall set the date of our engagement party. My secretary will see to the invitations. Send your list to him.”
Jennifer was staring at Rothchild, white-faced, except for the red flush climbing up her neck. “I don’t believe—”
“Jennifer,” Rothchild interrupted with indignation. “We needn’t argue over trivialities in front of your family. As I’ve mentioned before, there are always consequences when a couple disagrees publically.”
Jennifer flinched noticeably, and Jolene was staring at Rothchild with a venomous look that even a man as predisposed as Rothchild was to being exclusively concerned with himself could barely miss.
“Miss Crawford will be escorted to the Boston Hospital Soiree by Mr. Calvin Billings and his wife, Mrs. Shelby’s sister and brother-in-law. The arrangements have already been made,” Zeb said and smiled at Rothchild.
“Well, you must undo them, Jennifer,” Jane said with a huff. “Those people are nothing. We mustn’t be seen as advancing them. You will go with Mr. Rothchild. It is settled.”
Zeb leaned forward in his seat and met the mother’s eyes. He smiled. “No, Mrs. Crawford. It has been arranged and will not be changed. Miss Crawford will be attending with the Billingses.”
“That is enough,” Rothchild said and slammed his silverware down on the table. “You will leave this house at once. Of all the impertinence!”
The room was silent other than the hiss of the taper candles. Zeb picked up his spoon and began eating his soup. He swallowed, tapped his mouth with his napkin, and looked at Rothchild. “No. I am not leaving. The soup is delicious, by the way.”
“It is delicious,” Jolene said and turned to Jennifer. “Isn’t oyster stew your favorite?”
Jennifer looked from one face to the next. “It is my favorite. Even when I was a young girl. Wasn’t it, Father?”
Jane was sputtering her indignation, and Rothchild turned in his seat. “I am telling you that you need to leave this house at once. This is a fine old family with a reputation to keep. We don’t need an upstart with no pretense to civility at this dinner table. Leave at once.”
Zeb shook his head. “No. I’m staying. Try the soup, Mr. Rothchild
. It is delicious.”
Rothchild looked at William. “This man is disrupting our dinner and upsetting the ladies, Mr. Crawford. I shall call Bellings to have him removed.”
“I am not leaving, Mr. Crawford. Your cook is to be complimented. Dinner is delicious,” Zeb stated.
William looked up then, gazing from face to face. It would be awkward to stay at the table if this man attempted to have him forcefully removed but Zeb did not think it would come to that.
“Lamb for the main course, I believe. Cook’s lamb is a triumph,” Crawford said as he concentrated on his soup.
Rothchild was seething, visibly angry, and stayed that way for the course of the meal. After dessert was served, he rose and walked to Jennifer’s seat. “Come along, dear. We have much to discuss.”
“There is no one in the music room, Jeffrey. You may entertain Jennifer there,” Jane said.
Jolene stood, and wrapped her arm around Jeffrey’s. “I will be happy to play for our entertainment.”
Zeb was already at Jennifer’s seat. “Music would be very nice,” he said.
Both couples walked through the door. Rothchild shook off Jolene’s arm. “I am going to have a private discussion with my fiancée. Get out of here, the both of you,” he ordered, and made a grab for Jennifer’s arm.
Zeb moved Jennifer behind his back. He shook his head. “No. You will never be alone again with Miss Crawford. Is that understood?”
“You have no idea what you are saying or whom you are saying it to,” Rothchild growled. “You are nothing.”
Zeb shrugged. “I am the something that is not going to allow you to be alone with Jennifer Crawford.”
“Jane! Jane!”
They all turned to the dining room doors as they flung open and servants hurried out. Jennifer, Jolene, and Zeb went inside to see Jane Crawford slumped in her husband’s arms as he shouted for the doctor to be fetched. Zeb caught Luther by the arm.
“Make sure Mr. Rothchild is escorted out of Willow Tree.”