by Beth Byers
Hettie winked. “Well, of course—their entire inheritance, vanished. It’s no wonder Cecil is latching onto me.”
“He’s like a desperate puppy too ugly not to drown,” Ro said. “You? With your money and your good name, he’s like a man grabbing onto a life preserver. Wasn’t he affianced to a woman?”
“Mmm,” Hettie agreed.
“And you,” Ro shot back, “with your unique coloring, your body that any man would love, your bright eyes and creamy skin. Thinking that you should marry a man who knew you when you were a child? Simply because his coffers are empty? Idiots.”
“The real blessing here,” Hettie said kindly, “is how his sister, Gladys, is already married.”
Another gasp.
“Oh, of course,” Ro said with the same kindly, evil tone. “I doubt there is an eligible bachelor in the province who would take her after this latest catastrophe.”
“It’s too bad I’ve heard there is trouble in that marriage.”
“Oh, we know all about that,” Ro shot back. “Her husband is like every other married man with a wandering eye. I would feel bad for her, certainly, if she wasn’t such a snotty thing. She snubbed me last night.”
“If she knew who your family was,” Hettie said meaningfully, “she’d be following you around to carry your skirts like she does to my poor sister.”
Ro knew her eyes widened at Hettie’s statements. She’d never heard Hettie to shoot back so fiercely before, and it was a sight to behold. She could imagine the apoplectic reaction Gladys must be having in the next room.
Hettie’s grin went from mocking to straight evil when she said, “Whatever happens, we must make certain that Cecil never gets wind of your inherited fortune, Ro, or I fear he’ll turn his attention to you once he’s come to his senses and realized I’ll never accept him.”
Ro’s mouth dropped open and Hettie’s grin was so broad, she had to put a hand over her mouth to hide the giggles.
“Of course he’ll have his work cut out for him if decides to pursue you,” Hettie continued haughtily. “I’d almost pay to see you dash whatever hope remains in his lazy heart. No, not almost. I would pay. Quite a handsome sum, too. Come, let’s shop elsewhere. The Bon Marche has gone downhill lately. I heard they’ll let anyone shop here, even the Cavanaughs. Though how they’ll pay their bill, I’ll never know.”
Hettie flung open the dressing room door and they moved past the eerily quiet dressing room containing Gladys and her friend.
Before they left, however, Ro had found the perfect winter coat and matching hats in all the colors she wanted. Once outside and the packages handed off to Ralph, who would hold them in the Model T until they were ready to return to Hettie’s mother’s estate, Hettie let out a giggle. “That was a bit mean, wasn’t it?”
“It was horrendously cruel,” Ro said. “You can’t trust Gladys to keep my fortune secret. You did that on purpose!”
“I thought we could share the burden,” Hettie said, giggling so hard she was wiping tears away.
“Cruelty to Gladys?” Ro shrugged. “She had it coming. Throwing me at Cecil? I will have to take a knife to your new dresses.”
“I needed you to shoulder part of the burden, love. The opportunity was too good not to use.” Hettie neither looked nor sounded repentant.
“Don’t try to convince me to marry a man who wants my money. That’s the only thing you could do that would anger me,” Ro said.
“That won’t be a problem.”
“I’m not convinced either of us should marry again,” Ro muttered. “The institution really has nothing to offer either of us. We have each other for companionship and plenty of money to support ourselves.”
“You know we agreed it’s too soon after Harvey and Leonard’s deaths to know what we actually want. I remember wanting to be in love once.”
“I don’t know if I believe in love,” Ro said.
“Leonard hurt you physically, cheated on you, lied to you, and was cruel to everyone you knew.”
“Yes, he was an awful person,” Ro agreed, shuddering.
“You’re still healing, darling. So am I. I don’t think all men are evil.”
“You are interested in Dr. Neville Hale,” Ro shot out. “You like him.”
“You like him.”
“Not like you do.”
“But you like him. You know he’s a good man.”
“He seems like one,” Ro snapped back, “but I wouldn’t say I was positive about it.”
“Detective Truman might be obtuse, old-fashioned, and entirely too inclined to lecture—”
“All true,” Ro said, but she was less fierce this time.
“But you know you think he’s a good man.”
“Fine!” Ro snapped sourly. “They’re not all evil. But I remain unconvinced we should marry again. Soon we’ll have the right to vote and if we need a gentleman’s company, the Bright Young Things have certainly laid the groundwork for us to simply take what we want from any available bachelor without the hassle of matrimony. With perfect conditions like these in place, marriage is nothing more than a hindrance to my happiness. And yours.”
“All I am saying,” Hettie said, “is that we should set aside declarations such as those until we feel less like cauldrons of seething fury and more like we were before we were dumb enough to marry fiends.”
“Fine,” Ro grumbled. “Now be happy,” she demanded.
“You be happy!” Hettie shot back with a smirk.
“You first.”
Hettie pasted on a ridiculous grin and Ro snorted.
They finished their shopping in a festive mood, planning their escape to Prince Edward Island while Hettie imagined her mother’s disappointment at her refusal of Cecil’s advances.
“I don’t want to go home yet, but Mother planned a family dinner. Since I’m already going to break her heart—again—I should at least put in an appearance.”
“You should; even I know that. She’s your mother. You have to at least tell her you’re abandoning her or she’ll be right about you being an ungrateful fiend with no respect or care for others.”
“Sigh,” Hettie said dryly. “Woeful proclamations and a repentant tear.”
Ro laughed. “It’s far less believable when you sound like you’re reading stage directions from a play.”
“Woe,” Hettie said, leaning back.
Under Ralph’s careful navigation, Hettie put her feet up on Ro, leaned against the too-cold glass, and snuggled down. They maneuvered through Montreal’s icy streets slowly, arriving in time to change for the evening meal.
Cecil was seated next to Hettie as per her mother’s usual tricks, but Hettie turned in her seat so that her back was to him. It didn’t stop him from putting his hand on her leg under the linen tablecloth.
Ro, seated across the table from them, could see the motion of Hettie repeatedly pushing his hand away and then Cecil’s not so subtle movement replacing his hand where she’d pushed it aside. How long would Hettie put up with Cecil’s man-handling?
Gladys surprisingly appeared with a happy smile for dinner even after the exchange in the store earlier. They might not have set eyes on each other, but they’d both known what they were doing and who was hearing them. Gladys captured most of Hettie’s attention and Cecil might as well have been an annoying fly that she subconsciously attempted to keep shooing away.
Gladys’s husband had also joined the large group of diners at the long table, but he sat several places away from his wife and flirted shamelessly with the tart on his left. Ro couldn’t remember the man’s name, but she had little doubt those two were stealing into each other’s beds.
Ro could almost feel sorry for Gladys, but in truth, she had little empathy left for those who experienced the same troubles she had before. Ro didn’t have it in her to journey back down that path in her heart. That door was closed, that trial was over, and all that trying to dredge up sympathy did was make her remember. And remembering—that made h
er sick to her stomach and head.
The pork tenderloin sat heavy in Ro’s stomach. What a messy lot these people were. They were as bad as her own family, sitting about on their inherited laurels, comparing their estates, heirs, and incomes.
Ro couldn’t wait to leave and explore Prince Edward Island with Hettie. So much for civilized society. It appeared that everywhere there were married men, there were cheating men. Of course, the tart was married too, her husband seated farther away, so perhaps it should be cheating spouses. Philandering wasn’t reserved for the London elite. Ro wasn’t going to be married again until the idea of it didn’t leave her ready to sick-up. Were there no true love stories in the world?
Ro barely paid attention to the conversation. She’d heard it all before. Only the names and places had changed. But she did hear Hettie’s mother speak above the others.
“Of course we’ll attend church services on Christmas Eve,” Hettie’s mother told Gladys, who was seated next to her, but in a voice loud enough for the entire table to hear, “and then when we are gathered around the Christmas tree, perhaps my daughter will be ready to officially announce her wonderful news.”
Hettie choked on her wine. Cecil paled at Hettie’s mother’s words.
Hettie recovered quickly. “There will be no announcement around the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve, Mother.”
“Hettie,” her father said, “don’t be rude.”
Hettie’s eyes flared in fury as she looked at her father, back at her mother, and then to Cecil. She was very precise as she added, “I won’t be here for Christmas Eve.” Hettie pushed her chair back from the table and stood. “The only announcement I have is that Ro and I are leaving tomorrow for a few days of rest and relaxation on Prince Edward Island. Please excuse me. There is so much packing to do.”
She stormed away from the table and Ro was on her heels.
“I suppose that’s one way to let her know we’re leaving,” Ro teased.
“Did you hear that? An announcement that there would be an announcement. They’re trying to bully me into marrying that toad.”
Hettie growled as she stomped up the stairs to her rooms. “My mother thinks she can publicly pressure me into agreeing to marrying Cecil, but she has no idea the heights I’m willing to soar to in order to maintain my independence. They made my dowry available and wrapped it up so Harvey couldn’t snatch it away. With the money from grandmother and Aunt Catherine, all they can do is deny me a further inheritance when Father and Mother pass away. I’m hardly going to mortgage my happiness for money when I’m in the second half of my life.”
“Nor should you,” Ro agreed easily.
“That might have worked on me before,” Hettie said, spinning. “And there was a small part of me that wanted to give in. I suppose I was trained to obey for so long that I haven’t quite shaken it.”
“I wouldn’t have let you give in,” Ro said. “I’m your safety net, aren’t I? All I would have had to do was whisper ‘Harvey.’”
Hettie shuddered and then grinned, her mood shifting suddenly. “That would have worked.”
“If there was a train to PEI tonight, we’d be on it,” Ro said calmingly. “As there’s not, let’s pack our belongings so we can escape first thing in the morning.”
“Excellent plan. I don’t want to see any of them before Christmas. It will ruin a perfectly good holiday.”
Chapter 5
The train station had a teeming crowd with puffs of white air coming from every mouth as people rushed through the cold to their trains. The bustling of each person making their way to their own destinations made Hettie feel as though she were surrounded by hundreds of stories each more interesting than the last. She loved watching people come and go, and when one was this close to the holidays, each passing face looked happier than the last.
Walking through the station made it seem as though she and Ro had always lived in Montreal. They were only two more stories in the midst of the hundreds. With the cold air, their cheeks were blushing far more perfectly than with a simple application of rouge.
She breathed in long and slow and enjoyed the scent in the air of coal, holiday snow, and freedom. She had escaped the mansion that she had called home and it was as if someone had lifted a smothering pillow from her face.
“A day without Cecil—” Hettie pressed her cheek to Ro’s shoulder and giggled. “I feel as though I got a pony for Christmas.”
This miniature adventure within an adventure to Prince Edward Island would be just the thing. They were flying free. She couldn’t claim it would be wild. A literary tour of the setting of their favorite books could only be described as wholesome. Regardless, she felt better already, even with her mother still only a short drive away.
They sat on a bench in a corner while they waited for their train and watched the passers-by. Young families hidden by thick coats. Businessmen hurrying through the station in suits and carrying briefcases. People walked with brown paper packages full of treasures for those they loved and Hettie enjoyed guessing what each might be. If she recalled correctly, the line between Montreal and Prince Edward Island was used as often by tourists as it was by businessmen.
“Ro, do you ever wonder what it would be like to take the train to work every day?”
Ro shrugged, her eyes tracking a young family with a particularly poorly behaved young boy. Ro looked to be struggling between wanting to box his ears and wanting to join in his hijinks.
“I don’t suppose I’ve ever wondered that before now, but now that you mention it, I think it would be fascinating to watch people so often.”
They both turned when the boy fell to the ground and shrieked as though he’d been trampled, drumming his feet on the cobblestone.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever done that before,” Hettie said, staring at the child.
The mother looked exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes and tight lines around her mouth aged her otherwise youthful appearance. She might have been Ro or Hettie’s age, perhaps even younger.
Ro straightened as though struck by an epiphany. She leaned in as she said, “It has occurred to me that young children are the antithesis of the fountain of youth. They suck the life out of you and leave a parched shell where your youth used to be. Look at that poor woman. It’s best our husbands died before we had any children.”
Hettie rolled her eyes. “Not all children are sent straight from the devil. As I said, I’m certain I never tried such a maneuver as that fellow. Plus, I know you better than these proclamations of yours. I know you want children.”
Ro scowled and then admired the boy. He was a lively thing, wasn’t he?
“Well, at any rate, we couldn’t adventure like this if we had children.” Ro knew it was a thin excuse.
“Now you are completely losing your marbles, Ro Lavender. That’s what nannies are for. They travel with us. It’s the gift of being wealthy. That woman isn’t exhausted only because she has a child. She’s exhausted because she doesn’t have money. I imagine worrying over where your next meal will come from or how to pay the mortgage is more tiring than a child. Even one like that.”
“Should we give her money?” Ro asked. The young boy shrieked again at an impossible volume and they both flinched at the sound. The only one in the area unalarmed was the poor mother.
“You could,” Hettie said, watching as the mother grabbed her child by the back of his coat and hauled him to his feet, keeping him moving while she carried her bag in another hand. “Look at that arm strength. I don’t think I could do that.”
Ro laughed. “Where were we? Oh, yes, that’s right. How interesting it would be to work and watch on the daily train. Given the atrocious behavior of this young chap, I think I’d grow weary of all the commotion.”
“What about working? Daily?”
“We work. We own a company. We helped design those powder cases and they’re so pretty.”
Hettie scrunched her nose. “I don’t think people who actually
work have an artist and the actual designer for Artemis come to their hotel suite, listen while we vaguely describe what we wanted and then agree to all their suggestions.”
Ro laughed. “It felt like work. You didn’t even let us have cocktails. I think we should stick with trains only for non-business travel. Besides, what other work would we do? Are you thinking of slumming it, dear Hettie? Perhaps you want to be a secretary?”
“That is a respectable position, I am sure,” Hettie said. “I was only imagining.”
Ro didn’t let it go. “I own the businesses my husband left me. We own Artemis Cosmetics. You have your little investments here and there. We do work.”
“No,” Hettie said shaking her head and laying it on Ro’s shoulder. “We play. That woman works. It’s not only the train ride that I’m wondering about. It’s those mothers that must leave their children to go work in a factory as a seamstress. I suppose it’s a foolish notion to consider.”
“I wonder about it,” Ro agreed. “I know how fortunate we are.”
Hettie nodded. “Look at that woman there.” She pointed at an older woman who carried a satchel that appeared to be quite heavy. She was neat and tidy but her clothing was worn, and she walked the slow, weary walk of a woman who clawed her way through every day in order to make ends meet.
“We have never had to work as hard as she. I feel guilty about it, that’s all.” Hettie took a deep breath in. “We are lucky.”
Ro squeezed Hettie’s hand. “I know what you mean. Yesterday we bought more clothing than most of these women purchase in their lifetimes. We bought every color we liked and didn’t even have to consider the cost. Perhaps we should consider creating a philanthropic foundation. A way to help those less fortunate. What do you think? Hettie?”
Hettie was staring across the train platform, hearing Ro but unable to respond. She was speechless.
“Did you hear me, Hettie?”
Hettie nodded but said nothing. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Hettie’s sister, Amy, and her husband, Frederick, stood across the station, engaged in what appeared to be a spirited conversation with Jonas Cavanaugh, her father’s business partner. Even Uncle Humphrey with his young wife, Janet. Worse still, Cecil was with them.