Storing Up Trouble

by Jen Turano

  “You’re going to have to explain that a little more sufficiently.”

  “Very well, and I’ll start by saying this—if you’ve been, as my mother suggested, using your feminine wiles to get close to me, you must have neglected to realize that I might become intrigued by those feminine wiles.”

  She released a snort. “I’ll have you know that in my many spinster years on this earth I’ve never been accused by anyone of using my feminine wiles, probably because when people think of Beatrix Waterbury, I’m sure they would never think, ‘Well there’s a lady who knows how to use her feminine wiles to advantage.’”

  With that, Beatrix reached up and flipped open the small window that opened directly beside the driver, calling for him to take her back to Hyde Park. She then snapped the window shut and got resettled on the seat, staring out the window for the longest time until she turned to him again.

  “You’re a logical man, Norman, and logic should tell you that you’re being absurd right now. Someone has obviously framed my father because, again, as one of the wealthiest men in the country, he has no need to steal your research.” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to reply. “If you consider all of the time we’ve spent together, you should know that I’m not after your research either. I could have easily taken your papers after I shot you, but did I? No, I did not,” she finished before he could answer the question she apparently hadn’t actually posed to him.

  “I also highly doubt, if I wanted your research,” she continued, “and if I were working on behalf of my father, that I would have intervened when those criminals attacked you outside Marshall Field & Company, or when they held up the train in the first place.”

  Everything she said did have a certain logic to it, but she had withheld important information from him, and that, as far as Norman was concerned, was telling.

  “Perhaps you intervened because you realized those men were going to be unsuccessful, and by intervening, you garnered my appreciation.” He nodded. “Perhaps those men were at your aunt’s house later that night to pass along information to you, and before you argue with that, how would they have known where to find you if they weren’t working with you?”

  “My aunt’s address was among the other contents of my reticule that I dumped into that bag on the train.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh.”

  The next twenty minutes were spent in uncomfortable silence after Beatrix turned to the window again and refused to say another word, the light from the inside carriage lamp flickering over a face that was flushed with temper. What she was thinking, he had no idea, but he felt a most curious urge to comfort her as well as beg her forgiveness, even with him still convinced that she could very well be the spy his mother had accused her of being.

  As the carriage slowed, Norman felt a sense of urgency to do something, although what that something was eluded him at the moment.

  “We’re here,” Beatrix said, pulling her attention from the window and reaching for the door.

  “I’ll see you to the front door,” he said.

  “I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself to the door, Norman. I’ve had quite enough of you tonight and don’t want or need you to see me the last few feet home.” She settled eyes that were suspiciously bright on him. “You’ve insulted me without cause, and because of that, I feel free to finally admit something to you.”

  “You are a spy?”

  She sent him a look that spoke volumes before she opened the door and stepped to the ground. Turning back to him, she caught his eye. “What I wanted to admit was this—I’d grown very fond of you, Norman, some might say exceedingly so. But you’ve done me a grave disservice this evening, jumping to conclusions before you did your proper due diligence. I have to believe you didn’t become the scientist you are today by being so neglectful, but that you’d be so remiss in your care of me, well, it speaks volumes. Any fondness I might have had for you is now long gone, although I do hope that the fondness you once held for me will have you at least extending me an apology—in the form of a written note, of course—after I clear my father’s name. After that apology, I’ll not want to have any further contact with you.”

  Trepidation was immediate. “You’re going to attempt to clear your father’s name?”

  “Of course I am, and to do that, I’m going to have to return to New York as soon as possible.” With that, Beatrix shut the door and glided away, not turning back to look at him a single time before she disappeared through her aunt’s gate and straight out of his life.

  Chapter 34

  Beatrix stepped from the hansom cab and onto the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue. After paying the driver, she stood on the sidewalk, appreciating the sight of her family home, feeling as if she’d been away for years instead of months.

  Four stories tall and built of limestone, the house was created in a style that combined Italianate touches with the formality of French neoclassicism, and was a lavish display of opulence mixed with a hefty dose of refinement.

  The front door, flanked by tall windows, opened, and then Mr. Parsons, the Waterbury butler, was striding toward Beatrix, frowning as he stopped in front of her.

  “Miss Beatrix,” he exclaimed. “We’ve had no word you were returning home. What’s happened?”

  Before she could answer, Mr. Parsons took hold of her hand as his gaze ran over her, concern in his eyes before he pulled her into his arms and gave her a good squeeze. Releasing her a moment later, he stepped back. “You’re a mess.”

  Beatrix grinned. “I’ve just been on a train for hours and hours, so of course I’m a mess. But do know that nothing too troublesome has happened to me.”

  “Too troublesome sounds like a story to me,” Mr. Parsons said firmly. “But before I hear the details of what I’m certain is going to be a disconcerting tale, you should go and greet your parents while I ring to have some coffee and cakes brought to the library, which is where your parents are currently engaged in their latest . . . ah . . . diversion.”

  “Should I ask what that diversion is this time?”

  “Best to see it with your own eyes.”

  Exchanging a grin with him, Beatrix walked with Mr. Parsons into the house, the fresh scent of lemons greeting her. Lemon was a scent her mother adored, which was why the maids always polished the furniture with lemon paste and also spritzed the air with lemon water a few times a day.

  Mr. Parsons gestured her down the long hallway that led to the library, telling her he’d join her there directly after he fetched the coffee.

  Striding down the hallway, Beatrix heard her mother’s laughter, followed by a hearty laugh from her father in response, and braced herself for whatever diversion they were pursuing now.

  Arthur and Annie Waterbury enjoyed the reputation of eccentric couple about town, that reputation a direct result of the disregard they showed at times for what society expected of members of the New York Four Hundred. That her father was one of the wealthiest men in the country allowed them to disregard the rules at will, especially considering he was from a Knickerbocker family, which meant his position within society was solidly secure, no matter the antics he and Beatrix’s mother got up to.

  Easing open the door to the library, Beatrix stepped inside, coming to a stop and shaking her head at the sight that met her eyes.

  In her absence, the library had undergone a bit of a transformation.

  The floor-to-ceiling bookcases were currently draped in linen, and all the furniture was missing in the room, save for a few battered chairs that Beatrix had never seen in her life and a large table that was in the middle of the room, holding a potter’s wheel on it.

  Her mother, Annie, was sitting in front of the potter’s wheel, a mound of clay whirling about, and her father, Arthur, was standing behind her with his arms around her, both of them apparently trying to mold the same pot together. Given that the clay whirling around on the wheel resembled a blob instead of any discernable object, it was apparent t
hat they’d yet to master the art they were currently pursuing.

  “It’s no wonder the two of you are often the talk of the town, what with your unusual habit of always touching each other,” Beatrix said, moving farther into the room as her mother’s head shot up, as did her father’s, right as the blob on the wheel collapsed, bits of it flying into the air when the wheel kept spinning.

  “You need to stop pumping the foot pedal, darling,” Arthur said before he abandoned the clay and moved around the table. “Beatrix, this is a lovely, although unexpected, surprise.”

  Annie nodded as the wheel came to a slow stop and she rose to her feet. “Indeed, it is a lovely surprise, but why didn’t you send us word you were returning home? And what are you doing home in the first place, and better yet, where’s Gladys? You didn’t get yourself arrested again and she’s sent you back to us, did you?”

  “I didn’t send word because, frankly, it didn’t cross my mind, what with the more important matters I’ve had to think about of late,” Beatrix said, holding up a hand when it seemed as if her father was about to hug her, but given that his hands were covered in clay, she wasn’t really keen to have him do that. “And no, I wasn’t arrested again, nor have I done anything to annoy Aunt Gladys. She wanted to travel to New York with me, but Edgar came down with a horrible sore throat right as we were getting ready to go to the train station. That unfortunate situation had me encouraging Aunt Gladys to stay behind because she was obviously concerned about Edgar and wanted to personally see after him.”

  Annie tapped a clay-covered finger against her chin. “Dare I hope that Edgar might be finally turning his thoughts to marrying my sister? He clearly adores her, and I’ve made a point to say prayers for him every now and again, praying that he’ll eventually set aside his pride and realize he and Gladys belong together—and not as employer and butler.”

  “You knew that Aunt Gladys is more than fond of her butler?” Beatrix asked.

  “She’s my sister. Of course I knew, even though she’s never bothered to broach the subject with me.”

  Arthur picked up a rag and began wiping the clay from his hands, sending an affectionate glance to his wife. “And while Gladys is always an interesting topic of conversation, darling, what say we momentarily shelve this particular subject and move on to why Beatrix has returned.” He caught Beatrix’s eye. “I thought the plan was for you to stay at Gladys’s until at least Christmas.”

  “It was, but there were extenuating circumstances that had me cutting my visit short.”

  “And explaining those extenuating circumstances certainly deserves to be told while having coffee and cake,” Mr. Parsons said, wheeling in a cart that had her mother’s silver service on it.

  As Mr. Parsons went about pouring out the coffee, Arthur strode from the room, returning a short time later, dragging a small table behind him. Her mother quickly excused herself to wash the clay from her hands.

  “Why have you all but dismantled the library?” Beatrix asked as her father began pulling battered chairs around the table he’d brought in.

  “Your delightful friend Mr. Murray Middleton told us the lighting in here was more conducive to working with clay because the floor-to-ceiling windows bring in just the right amount of natural light,” Annie said, walking back into the room.

  “You’ve recently seen Murray?” Beatrix asked.

  Annie nodded. “We frequently see him because he’s begun offering instruction in art.” She shook her head. “Your father and I attended a few of Murray’s classes on abstract metal sculpting, but we experienced somewhat of a problem with that.”

  “Your mother almost burned Murray’s studio down when she got too close to the flame we were using to heat the metal in order to make it supple,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “Before anyone knew it, the mitts she was wearing to protect her hands caught on fire. Murray’s wife, Maisie, was quick to rush to your mother’s aid, dousing her with the water from a vase of flowers an earlier class had been using as their subject matter.”

  Annie released a sigh. “Your father and I weren’t overly surprised when Murray offered us private lessons, but only if we’d agree to take those lessons here.”

  Beatrix grinned. “I imagine he was most insistent on that.”

  “Indeed he was,” Arthur said. “Which explains why the library is currently in a state of disarray, although because your mother and I have decided we really enjoy pottery, we might add an artist studio to the back of the house.”

  “Have you actually finished any pieces of pottery?”

  “We haven’t,” Annie said cheerfully before she tossed a rather flirty grin to Arthur. “But it’s been marvelous trying.”

  “You do know you’re embarrassing me, don’t you?” Beatrix asked.

  Annie’s smile was anything but contrite. “We’ve been alone now for weeks. Clearly we’re out of practice with how to comport ourselves when our children are underfoot.”

  “Which does leave me questioning whether having the house to yourselves, save for all your staff, might have been a great incentive to banish me to the wilds of Chicago.”

  Annie’s smile dimmed as she nodded to Arthur. “You’ve still got clay on you, dear.”

  “Which I’m sure is your way of saying you’d like a few minutes alone with our daughter,” Arthur replied with a nod of his own. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Give me at least twenty minutes.”

  Arthur smiled and strode from the room, Mr. Parsons following him, saying over his shoulder that he was off to fetch additional treats from the kitchen before closing the door behind him.

  Annie moved to Beatrix’s side and engulfed her in a warm embrace, the scent of lemons mixed with clay leaving Beatrix smiling.

  “I’ve missed you, my darling girl,” her mother said before she gestured to one of the battered chairs. “Shall we sit?”

  Taking a seat, Beatrix soon found herself under the unwavering stare of her mother.

  “You’ve not been sleeping,” Annie proclaimed.

  “It’s difficult to sleep on a train, even with Aunt Gladys reserving a private Pullman car.”

  “A more pleasant way to travel than what you probably experienced getting to Chicago.”

  Beatrix smiled. “You must know I wasn’t overly bothered by having to take a passenger car to Chicago. It gave me an opportunity to meet new people, and I did have quite the adventure on that ride to Chicago.”

  “And I’m sure you’ll explain that more sufficiently in a moment, but returning to your lack of sleep. You’ve never had difficulties sleeping before, even when you’re on a train, which means . . . you’ve met a man, and one who is giving you trouble if I’m not mistaken.”

  “How did you come to that conclusion?”

  Annie shrugged. “You and I have always been very similar, Beatrix. And the only time I ever experienced difficulty sleeping was after your father and I first met.” She blew out a breath. “Your grandmother, Mrs. Howard Waterbury, didn’t approve of me at first as a suitable bride for your father. My father, as you know, made his fortune in mining and had no illustrious ancestors to impress New York society when he moved here. Because of that, and because the Waterburys are firmly of the Knickerbocker set, your grandmother did everything in her power to dissuade your father from courting me.”

  “But he obviously wasn’t dissuaded.”

  “He did have reservations, though, after his mother, sister, aunts, and even a few friends began telling him how unsuitable I was. He stopped calling on me for a good month without any explanation, which caused me more than a few sleepless nights, trying to figure out where the charming gentleman with whom I’d fallen in love had gone.”

  “Clearly that charming gentleman returned at some point since you’ve been married to him all these years.”

  Annie smiled. “He did, but only after I took matters into my own hands. You see, one day I’d taken my horse to Central Park, and Arthur was there with a group of
his friends. He had the audacity to ride past me without so much as a doff of a hat, and something inside me snapped. I chased after him and told him he was being an idiot. I then told him that while he apparently felt I was socially unsuitable, four other gentlemen, all of whom actually wanted to marry me and didn’t care about my lack of grand social status, had already approached my father to ask for his blessing to court me.” Annie’s smile turned smug. “Arthur came to his senses in a remarkably short period of time after realizing he was about to lose me forever, and that, my dear, was the end of my sleepless nights.”

  “What did Grandmother Waterbury think of that?”

  “Oh, she wasn’t pleased at first, but I managed to grow on her, and we eventually enjoyed an amiable relationship.” Annie sat forward. “Is the trouble you’re experiencing with a man a direct result of his mother?”

  Seeing no reason to deny that a man was the root of her sleep deprivation of late, Beatrix nodded. “To a certain extent, but Mrs. Nesbit isn’t worried about my social status, although she was at one time, when no one was aware that I’m an heiress or a member of the New York Four Hundred.”

  “You didn’t let anyone know who you are?”

  “I wasn’t hiding it, but after Aunt Gladys arranged for me to take on a position at Marshall Field & Company, I decided that I wouldn’t benefit nearly as much from that position if everyone there came to the conclusion I was only working in a store as some type of lark.”

  Annie was out of her chair and moving for the door in the blink of an eye. Opening the door, she let out a small shriek when Arthur and Mr. Parsons stumbled into the room, sheepish smiles on their faces as they then went about acting as if they’d not been eavesdropping.

  “I’ve brought additional treats,” Mr. Parsons proclaimed, walking out of the room again and returning a moment later, pushing a second cart.

  “I’ll help pour more coffee,” Arthur said, and after he did exactly that, and after Mr. Parsons handed out fine bone china plates with cake, cookies, and fruit on them, everyone took a seat and turned their attention to Beatrix.