by Holly Bush
Mildred eyed her mistress, now shouting her displeasure and pounding her fists into the silk coverlets, and looked back to Jennifer. “Yes, Miss Crawford.”
“You are not the mistress of Willow Tree! You are nothing!” Jane shouted and turned to Mildred. “Send a message to Mr. Rothchild. I must speak to him immediately.”
Jennifer folded her hands at her waist. “You are ill. I am in charge of Willow Tree for the time being and your care, Mother. Mildred will not be sending any messages to an unmarried man to visit with you in your bedchamber. Get some rest, Mother,” she said as she walked toward the door, her heart pounding in her chest.
Chapter Twelve
“The banking legislation is critical. We must have the trust of our fellow citizens if we are to prosper,” Jennifer said. Mr. Owens and Mr. Winslow leaned closer, and her father looked at her strangely. Owens, Winslow, and her father were conversing about bank business in regards to proposed regulations, but of course making no mention of their respective businesses’ obligations. Jennifer had been reading yearly reports, following the financials in the Globe, and listening to members of the Boston bank community for as long as she could remember and was well acquainted with the particulars.
“What did you say, my dear?” Mr. Owens, the vice president of the Massachusetts Bank, asked.
“We must guarantee our depositors’ money in some fashion if we are to continue and attract new investors,” she said. “Not just today’s investor but tomorrow’s as well.”
“This panic has all been caused by those Argentinians, who don’t have the stomach to control their own people. Now they’re in the middle of a coup! This will be a disaster for us, mark my words,” Mr. Winslow said.
“The Sherman Act is the problem,” Mr. Owens said. “Cleveland will be the death of free banking.”
“We cannot control anarchy or unrest or poor decisions that we do not make,” Jennifer said. “But we must control the outcome.”
“How do you propose that, Miss Crawford? We will be taxed and regulated so much we will not be able to turn a profit!”
“We really have no choice, Mr. Owens. I think you all,” she said, and stopped to look each man including her father in the eye, “realize something must be done to stabilize commerce and calm nervous investors but you hesitate to act until your tenures as the heads of some of Boston’s most elite banks are near to a close. You certainly do not want to be the ones blamed for lower profits.”
“Now, Jennifer,” her father began.
But Mr. Winslow stopped him and smiled shrewdly. “She does you credit, William, and you despaired of having no sons. I have two extraordinarily lazy ones who do not understand the world of finance nearly as well as Miss Crawford. Perhaps she would consider marrying one of them and explaining to them how commerce works.”
“But she is affianced to Rothchild,” Mr. Owens said. “What a lucky man he is!”
“He is . . . he is not my fiancé,” Jennifer said. “I am not engaged to him.”
Zeb watched Jennifer while he stood leaning against the mantel, near enough to listen, but not so close as to be part of their conversation. Her hands shook, and she spoke barely above a whisper, but had the full attention of these clearly powerful and wealthy Bostonians.
“Humph,” Owens said. “I think some of your investors were looking to see some new blood at your bank, William. There is some talk behind the scenes that some of your books are not up to snuff. But if Miss Crawford has declined his offer . . .”
Jennifer straightened as if she’d been slapped, and her father reached an arm around her as he replied. “We have uncovered a clerk who is challenged by columns of figures. We have found him new tasks at the bank more to his abilities. The books are in order.”
“My wife’s cousin’s son cannot add or subtract sufficiently to count stacks of one dollar notes. I finally had to fire him. Christmas visits with my wife’s family will be interesting,” Winslow said.
William Crawford directed the men to the buffet laid out with pastries and cheeses. Jennifer turned to Zeb.
“You are white as my hanky. What has happened?” Zeb asked.
“Owens heard our books were not up to snuff,” she said. “I am concerned that rumors have begun.”
“Your father smoothed it over nicely, I thought.”
“Do you think they were convinced?”
“It is that critical?”
She nodded. “Yes. Banks have closed their doors on less.”
“You think Rothchild is doing this?”
“Absolutely. He already threatened it.”
“I think this party for Jolene proves exactly the opposite of what Rothchild may be saying. Your sister adds her considerable skills, and your father and yourself looking and sounding competent and confident, undoubtedly belies Rothchild’s descriptions, which I imagine are that you are a family in crisis.”
Jennifer nodded. “Yes. That is what he would be saying, although it would be just a word dropped here or there. He would be subtle and believable.”
“And you are believable as well. Jolene, for her part, has not denied that Max is considering a run for the presidency.”
“The presidency? I did not know that Max had those aspirations.”
“I don’t think he does, but when the woman over there in the green dress said that the next thing Max would be eyeing is the executive mansion, Jolene just smiled and said nothing. Of course, now the room is buzzing with gossip that Jolene Crawford Shelby’s husband is considering a run for the presidency. It doesn’t hurt the family reputation.”
“Mother thinks it does. She says politicians are crass.”
Zeb smiled. “She’s right, but they are also powerful men with the ability to bestow favor and displeasure even in the business world.”
“I am not sure if my comments were well received by Owens and Winslow. Women are not welcome amongst bankers, except, of course, for Mrs. Ebbitt. There she is,” Jennifer pointed out with a nod to a frail-looking white-haired woman speaking to several men and women. “I was very glad she accepted my invitation.”
“The pale woman in the black dress? She looks quite elderly,” he said.
“She must be near seventy years old. She still goes every day to the offices at Ebbitt Bank,” she said and turned to him. “Mrs. Ebbitt is famous here in Boston. She was a renowned debutante in her day from what I’ve been told and married Mr. Ebbitt, the son of the founder of Ebbitt Bank and Loan. He was no more than forty when he died from an insufficiency of the heart, and Mrs. Ebbitt’s children were not of age. She took over her husband’s position at the bank, and as she was the majority stockholder, there was little to be done about it by the board of directors. She kept the bank afloat and prosperous until her son was able to take over. Although rumors are that she still runs the company and he is merely a figurehead.”
“She is to be admired,” Zeb said, and leaned close. “But there is nothing she has done that you would not be able to. Your father is a fool if he does not recognize that.”
Jennifer shook her head. “No. I am not clever enough for that sort of thing.”
“So you choose to believe what your mother has told you all these years.”
“I . . . I don’t have the background or the courage to do what Mrs. Ebbitt has done.”
“You are already doing it, Jennifer.”
She turned her head sharply. “No. I’m merely—” But she was cut off by her father.
“Come along, Jennifer,” he said. “Owens is insisting you join in the conversation we are having with some investors, and I think we have managed to quiet Rothchild’s rumors. What an excellent idea this party was, my dear. Jolene is at her best, even in her delicate condition, and you are giving our partners, and our competitors, confidence. You know as well as I that if one Boston bank goes down, it is only bad news for all those remaining. Come. They are waiting.”
* * *
Zeb waited near the stairs as Jennifer and her fathe
r said good night to the last guest. Crawford stayed to give the butler some instruction, and Jennifer walked to Zeb. Her eyes were shining and she was smiling.
“Quite a successful soiree you’ve hosted, Miss Crawford.”
“It was, was it not? Cook outdid herself with the food, and father was in his glory with Jolene to show off,” she said. “Yes. It was a roaring success!”
“You had no small part in that. I watched you in conversation with a variety of people. They were waiting to hear your comments and leaning in close to hear your every word. You had Boston’s banking elite hanging on every word.”
Crawford stopped at his daughter’s side. “I am going to check on your mother. Good night, Jennifer. Well done. You are going to your rooms?” he asked with a sideways glance at Zeb.
“I am coming very shortly, Father. I am exhausted,” she said and watched him climb the stairs before turning back to Zeb.
“I am leaving tomorrow, very early, to escort your sister to Washington. I will be back Monday morning at the latest but I may be back as early as Sunday afternoon. Please tell me you will remember to stay here at Willow Tree until Sunday evening when either I or Calving Billings arrives to escort you to the Hospital Soiree,” Zeb said.
“I will,” she said. “I told my father that Jeffrey was ill and couldn’t attend this evening. I never sent him an invitation. Father thinks I have judged him harshly and I will damage his reputation in the banking community if I am not careful.”
“He has hit you, I’m sure of it, and I suspect he is doing something nefarious at the bank. I will be happy to damage more than his reputation.”
“Perhaps that will not be necessary. Maybe he will have some understanding now that I am not going to marry him. Perhaps we can just be polite to each other and go our separate ways.”
Zeb laid his hands on her shoulders. “No, Jennifer. He is not the type of man to give up. Trust me on this. He will not quit until he has hurt you in some way even more than he already has. Promise me you will be very careful. Promise me you will not leave Willow Tree until I’ve returned, or unless you are with Calvin Billings.”
“I promise.”
He touched his lips to hers and felt her breath against his mouth. “I will not be satisfied until I am back in Boston and able to see to your welfare.”
She looked into his eyes. “You have no obligation to me. We are not courting, or affianced. Why are you doing this?”
“Let us worry about that later after you are safe. After your secrets are out or solved.”
Jennifer stepped back and searched his face. “I will see you on Sunday or Monday, then. I must go up now, even though I’d prefer not to.”
“Yes. You should go up before I kiss you and do not want to leave.”
“Good night, Zebidiah.”
“Good night, Jenny. You will be careful?”
She nodded and turned to hurry up the steps.
* * *
Jennifer kept to her rooms both days, other than checking on her mother every few hours. Jane was in so much pain that she’d not left her bed for three days and was willingly taking the laudanum that Dr. Roderdeck had prescribed. When Jennifer did leave her rooms, she found Luther lurking nearby.
“Luther,” she said finally. “Are you following me? I don’t think that is necessary within the confines of Willow Tree. How are you getting your other duties performed if you are constantly in my attendance?”
“I work through the night, Miss Crawford. Do not worry about me. I’m hoping to better myself, and Mr. Moran told me if all goes well here, he may have a position in Washington for me, working for him.”
“You would be interested in working with Mr. Moran in Washington?”
He nodded. “He told me I would start out by getting him to and from his offices every day and other places he needs to go, that he doesn’t have a moment to spare to hire carriages and such. He said I’d be reading and learning while I’m waiting for him and that he would see to my education.” He continued softly, “That is if he still has his job when this danger to you has passed.”
“He will have his job, Luther,” she said. “I think the danger has passed, and the senator values Mr. Moran’s counsel. I think he will be back in Washington within the week once he has seen that all is calm here.”
“I hope all is calm, but I’ll still do as Mr. Moran has told me to do.”
Clearly those around her thought that she was still in danger, and now this drama was disrupting schedules and lives. How she wished she’d never encouraged Jeffrey Rothchild all those months ago, even believing Jolene that anyone could have been fooled. Even knowing that there were no signs early on, that she didn’t have an inkling that he was not honorable, that he was, in fact, violent. She’d spent her life avoiding others’ notice, staying clear of her mother’s attention, as that only brought embarrassment and pain. How she hated being center stage! She much preferred to be part of the silent observers, content to follow the tides rather than make one.
Jennifer left Eliza laying out her clothes for the Hospital Soiree and mending her pale blue satin slippers that matched the Dutch blue and cream watered silk gown that she would be wearing that evening, to check on her mother’s condition.
“You are sitting up,” Jennifer said with a smile when she went in her mother’s room. “You must be feeling considerably better.”
“Where is my bath, Mildred? Did you call for it?” Jane demanded.
“I will check on it for you, ma’am,” Mildred replied and scurried from the room.
Jennifer hurried to her mother’s side as she rose from the edge of the bed on unsteady legs. “Take your time, Mother. You have been abed and in pain.”
Jane shook off Jennifer’s hand on her elbow. “I need no assistance from you. Leave. I must prepare for the Hospital Soiree.”
“What? No! You are in no condition to go out, Mother,” she said, and watched as her mother wobbled to the end of the mattress and grabbed the bedpost to steady herself. “You will make yourself ill and your surgery is this week. Surely Dr. Roderdeck would not approve.”
“That quack does not determine my social calendar. I have never missed a Hospital Soiree and don’t intend to!”
“Father is still at the Banking Association meeting held at his club and told me he will meet me at the soiree. Calvin and Eugenia Billings are coming here to take me with them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jane said as Mildred opened the door and ushered in young men and women carrying a tub and buckets of water. “You will ride with me in the Crawford carriage. There is no reason to demean yourself by arriving with those people.”
“But Mother.” Jennifer shook her head. “You do not understand . . . you do not know . . . I have promised—”
“Promised whom?” Jane interjected. “You would disregard the needs of your own mother to humiliate me this way? I am ill, as you constantly remind me. Can’t you have some pity on your mother?”
“But . . . I—”
“Out with you now. I want to take my bath in privacy and comfort. Stoke that fire up, boy,” Jane directed one of the young men now dumping steaming buckets of water into the copper tub. “Strangers come in and use our bathing room. I will no longer bathe there.”
“Strangers?” Jennifer asked and looked at Mildred, who would not meet her eye.
“Out!” Jane said and pointed to the door. “Out with all of you. Mildred will stay and assist me.”
Jennifer thought about her promise to Zeb to attend with the Billingses. But surely he would understand that her mother would need assistance, and hadn’t she just told Luther that the danger had passed? She would ride in the family carriage with her mother to the Hospital Soiree and have Luther ride up front with the driver. Jennifer hurried to her room to write a note to Jolene’s sister-in-law Eugenia to tell her she would meet her at the soiree and that she would be riding with her mother and father in the family carriage. Jennifer thought briefly about the small lie
that her father would be with her, but she dreaded the possibility that Calvin would play hero and insist that they see her to the Parker House Hotel. He would be mollified if he thought Father would attend her and Mother and she could forego the inevitable scene if the Billingses arrived at Willow Tree. She would have Luther with her in any case, and who would bother her when in his company?
* * *
Jolene and Melinda Shelby were safely deposited with Max, who hugged the two of them as if he had not seen them for years instead of the three weeks they were away. Melinda went running to find her puppy, and Zeb watched as Jolene and Max stared into each other’s eyes, holding their hands between them, as they whispered. It made him think of Jennifer, and the soft kiss she’d given him just yesterday.
Jolene kissed Max on the mouth and swept away up the staircase, servants hauling luggage behind her. “Thank you, Zebidiah, for getting us home safely and honoring your promise to Maximillian. Now please return to Boston to guard my sister.”
“Guard her sister?” Max asked after he’d ushered Zeb into his library.
“I’m tendering my resignation, Max. It’s been an honor serving you and working for you, but I’ve made a promise that I have to keep. There’s one train from Washington to Boston tomorrow and I’ll be on it. I’m more sorry than I can say that I’ll be unable to stay and help you pick a new chief of staff but I haven’t any choice.”
“Sit down,” Max said as he poured them each a glass of bourbon. “You are not resigning. If you have to keep a promise, then take whatever time you need, but you’re not resigning. A young man from that Jesuit school, Georgetown College, showed up at the office looking for work. I liked the look of him and hired him on the spot. He’s bright and will manage until you return and teach him how to wrangle a calf or a senator. Do what you have to do now.”
Zeb stared at him, willing himself not to do violence with the retelling and hoping that Jennifer forgave him when she found out he’d told Max her story. He could no longer keep it bottled up inside. He was sick to the stomach with worry and he needed a man’s opinion and advice.