Using Alice’s Christian name was an unfortunate slip of the tongue, revealing just how close his relationship with her had gotten. He’d been hoping to keep any whisper of that fact out of this conversation. He wanted to keep Clapper on the defensive.
Even though Clapper said nothing about Douglas’s slip, he did give a sneer before answering. “What gives you the right to make such accusations?”
“Smith also forged Miss McNeil’s signature—which, by the way, was incorrect. That was sloppy of you, Clapper.”
Archie turned a furious gaze to their employer. “Mr. Henley, do you know of any reason I should stand here and accept insults from this man? You know I am loyal to this company! And you know why.” He gave a pointed glance at the photograph of Mrs. Henley that was on Henley’s desk. “I would never try to deliberately sabotage it. I had no reason! Whereas Miss McNeil had plenty. She was jealous and underhanded—”
Henley held up a hand. “We’ve been through all of this already.” He looked wearily at Douglas. “Mr. Shaw, I have to ask your reasons for these allegations against Mr. Clapper.”
“I’ve just returned from Liverpool, where I carefully perused the telegrams, the logbook, and the tape from the Morse printer. I found some discrepancies. Mr. Griffin can confirm everything I tell you.”
This introduction got the attention of both men.
“Go on,” Henley directed. “What were the discrepancies?”
“First, Alice’s signature was listed on the telegram as AM when, in fact, it is AXM.”
“A mere slip on Smith’s part,” Archie said with a scoff. “That proves nothing.”
“Second, there was an issue with the seven-digit numbers printed on the forms,” Douglas continued. “Those numbers are recorded in the logbook. The number of the telegram supposedly sent by Alice was much lower than the ones around it. That would indicate it had been sent earlier in the day—say, perhaps when Miss McNeil was out at lunch, rather than Mr. Clapper.”
“You’re grasping at straws, Shaw,” Clapper said. “It would be very easy for a loose stack of forms to get out of order. Especially on warm weather days, when the windows are open and there is a breeze. Happens in our office all the time.” Once more he turned toward Henley. “If you examine our own logbook, you’ll see the numbers aren’t always in exact order. As I have just pointed out, that is through no fault of our own. Surely you can’t believe any of that implicates me.”
Archie’s tone was belligerent, yet Douglas thought he heard a note of worry creeping into it.
Henley sat silently for a moment. He didn’t look happy at being placed in the middle of this thorny situation. Finally, he said, “I have to agree with Mr. Clapper. Those two issues might be put down to mere chance or sloppiness.”
Very naturally, Clapper took this statement as proof that his argument had won the day. “So you must also agree that it’s evident this man is trying to smear my good name. He wants to make me appear guilty, when we all know it was a craven attack by a woman whose morals were unhinged for love. And over this very man! Mr. Henley, if you really want to see justice done and preserve this company, you’ll send Shaw packing, off to join his paramour.”
“Nobody’s going anywhere just yet,” Henley said, although he turned an angry gaze on Douglas. “Would you mind telling me exactly what you are trying to do?”
“Thank you, sir, because I haven’t finished telling you everything yet.” Douglas spoke calmly, but he could see he needed to finish making his case quickly, lest Henley become angry enough to do as Archie suggested. “You see, there’s the matter of the Morse printer. It confirms the time this telegram was received, and that it couldn’t possibly have been Miss McNeil who sent it. Perhaps Smith figured no one would think to check it. But I did.”
Archie was seething, his fists clenched. “Why you—”
Douglas cut him off before he could complete the epithet. “By the way, I also discovered why Smith was sacked. I even went to see him at the jail. He wanted me to tell you that you still owe him the fifty pounds you promised for doing the job.”
“Fifty pounds! It was nowhere near that! He—”
This time, Clapper cut himself off, realizing too late the trap Douglas had set.
Henley’s eyebrows rose. “And just how much did you offer to pay him for forging that telegram?”
CHAPTER
Thirty
Alice decided to take a roundabout way home. There were questions on her mind. So many questions. So instead of returning to London, she was riding a train to the seaside town in Kent where Miss Templeton lived. Perhaps the woman who had been so instrumental in forming her life’s dreams would have the answers.
Seated by a window, Alice watched as the landscape rolled by. Like her life, it seemed. She was twenty-eight years old, and with the recent setbacks, it seemed she had not advanced one step beyond when she’d first left home so many years ago.
What was she to do now? In what direction should she expend her talents and efforts? These concerns filled her thoughts, even as the train came to a halt at the station, and Alice disembarked.
A railway clerk gave her directions to the address she was seeking. Miss Templeton’s home turned out to be a tiny clapboard cottage on a short street near the cliffs, overlooking the sea. Heart in her throat, Alice knocked on the door. She hadn’t seen Miss Templeton for over twelve years. Was coming here the right thing to do?
A ruddy-faced, unkempt young woman answered the door, looking at Alice in surprise.
“I’m here to see Miss Templeton,” Alice explained. “Is she at home?”
“Why yes, miss.” The maid ushered Alice inside. She explained that she’d been hired to assist the older woman with meals and cleaning and even helping her get dressed and move around the house. “She’s been doing poorly,” the maid whispered as she led Alice down a short hallway. “She’s a proud one, though. Doesn’t like asking for help, but I do all I can.”
As they entered the sitting room, Alice’s first glimpse of Miss Templeton was disconcerting. She’d been in her midfifties during Alice’s school days, which meant she must be approaching seventy now. She was seated in a chair by the fireplace, her slippered feet propped up on a footstool. Although she was swathed in blankets, Alice could see she was very thin. She seemed smaller, too, almost disappearing into the high-back chair.
Her face, however, lit up when she saw Alice. “Merciful heavens! Is that Miss McNeil? My star pupil!” She held out her arms to encourage Alice to approach. “Please excuse me for not getting up. I’ve been ill.”
Alice took her hands. “When your letters dried up, I began to worry about you.”
“And you came all the way to see me? That’s terribly kind. I’ll be a poor hostess, but I’ll do the best I can.” She called out to her maid. “Grace! Will you make us some tea?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Grace said, and shuffled off to the kitchen.
“And see if you can find us some biscuits, too!” Miss Templeton called after her.
Alice had never spent much time thinking about herself at an older age. Looking at Miss Templeton now, though, was sobering. The spinster book had spoken of a quiet home, a flowerpot on the windowsill, and the company of cats. It had not mentioned dust on the mantel and curtains, nor cobwebs in the corners, nor becoming beholden to a housemaid of indifferent quality. Whatever the maid defined as doing all she could didn’t seem to extend to the dusting.
Alice moved a stack of books off the only other chair, placing them on an already overcrowded little table, so she had a place to sit.
“I’m sorry to say my home does not meet the standards we used to keep at the school,” Miss Templeton said. “Grace is not the most efficient maid, but I’m doing my best to teach her some things. As soon as I get back on my feet, I intend to oversee a thorough cleaning.”
Alice found these words promising. “Does this mean you’re on the mend?”
“I am slowly improving, I believe. Whether i
t’s because of my doctors or in spite of them is a subject for conjecture.” She adjusted her glasses and peered fixedly at Alice. “Unlike me, however, you are looking very well—if rather too pale. You must ensure you get outside regularly for walks, girl. It’s good for your health.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Alice answered, feeling like a schoolgirl again.
Miss Templeton leaned back in her chair and sighed, readjusting the blanket around her shoulders. “You must do it while you can, for our physical strength does not last forever.”
“Perhaps you need more rest?” Alice said, worried by her mentor’s frail appearance and once more second-guessing her decision to come here.
“Nonsense, I’m glad you’ve come.” She reached out to give a brief, comforting pat to Alice’s arm. “My mind is still sharp as ever, and I’m in need of good company to occupy it.” She wagged a finger at Alice. “Your letters have been rather sparse of late, Miss McNeil.” With this brusque comment, she sounded just as she had all those years ago when scolding a poorly performing student. “You must catch me up. What have you been up to?”
“Well, I . . .” Where should she begin? It was a bigger question than Miss Templeton could guess. Alice decided to start with the simplest subject. “I’ve just spent two days in Ancaster. We celebrated my parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary.”
She went on to describe her visit, using cheerful, uplifting terms. Given her love for her family, it was easy enough to do, despite the raw feelings her time with them had evoked and the effort it had taken to hold so many emotions in check. A new surge of discomfort rose as she answered Miss Templeton’s polite queries about her parents and siblings.
Grace arrived with the tea, and Alice poured cups for her and Miss Templeton. The tea was weak but hot, and accompanied by some rather stale biscuits.
“I’m glad to hear your mother has come around on the subject of your career,” Miss Templeton said. “I’m sure you must have felt great satisfaction at hearing her express her pride in you.”
“Actually, I don’t know what to think about that. You see—” She paused. From the corner of her eye she could see Grace hovering nearby. The maid was clearly listening to every word of their conversation.
“Grace, these biscuits are unacceptable,” Miss Templeton said. “Will you go to the baker’s and get us some tea cakes?” She set aside her cup and saucer and began searching for something amid the items cluttering the narrow table beside her chair.
“Please, allow me,” Alice said. She pulled some coins from her reticule and handed them to the maid before Miss Templeton could object.
“That’s very kind of you, my dear,” Miss Templeton said. Once Grace had departed, Miss Templeton fixed her bright, clear gaze on Alice. “Now, my girl, what did you wish to say?”
Here, at last, was the moment Alice could be completely honest. She desperately hoped Miss Templeton could give her the advice and encouragement she needed. “The thing is, I’ve been let go from my position at Henley and Company.”
Even though Alice had shared this information with her friends and her sister, this time it felt different. It felt like a confession, a sorrowful admission that she’d not been able to live up to the vision her schoolmistress had set for her.
“You were sacked?” Miss Templeton looked shocked. “Whatever for? It couldn’t possibly be for poor performance. You are too competent for that.”
This praise only made Alice feel worse. “They thought I was deliberately trying to damage the company.”
“But that’s absurd! Why would you do that?”
“I wouldn’t, of course! But certain events conspired to make them think so.”
Alice told her about the telegram that had done so much harm to the company, and how she’d been unceremoniously let go because of it. She went on to describe her disastrous interview with Mrs. Lipscomb. “I may never work in telegraphy again,” she finished sadly. “And that’s the worst of it.”
“This is terrible, no doubt,” Miss Templeton agreed. “But don’t lose that plucky spirit of yours, Miss McNeil! Troubles—even those not of our own making—are part of every person’s journey. It’s how one deals with them that shows true character. I have no doubt you will find a way to triumph in the end.”
Alice sighed, wishing she had the same confidence.
Miss Templeton set aside her teacup and leaned back in her chair, her mind clearly working on something. “That business with the telegram doesn’t make sense. How could they believe you would want to harm the very company you work for? What could possibly be your motive?”
Alice paused before answering, knowing how absurd the truth was going to sound. “Revenge.”
Miss Templeton’s eyebrows lifted. “For?”
Alice swallowed. She believed that being completely honest was going to be good for her—perhaps even cathartic. But she also knew it wasn’t going to be easy. She looked down at her hands and said softly, “Unrequited love.”
Several moments of silence followed. Alice looked up again, thinking she might see any expression ranging from disbelief to anger on her mentor’s face. But Miss Templeton was studying her with a contemplative expression. She blinked, which, behind her round eyeglasses, gave the impression of a wise owl.
“Was it that assistant director? The conquering hero returned from America?”
“How did you guess?”
“You spoke so glowingly of him in your letters. Nothing but praise. I could read between the lines.”
“My opinion of him has changed,” Alice said. “I learned he is the sort of man who puts his own advancement above all else.”
“How disappointing. That seems very different from the man you described. Do you mean that he joined the other men at the company in this terrible treatment of you?”
Alice shook her head. “He wasn’t there. He believes in my innocence, and he objected vigorously when he discovered I’d been sacked.”
“How do you know that?”
“He came and told me.”
“I see,” her mentor replied, nodding.
“I told him that if he truly believed I was innocent, he’d be working to clear my name and uncover the real culprit.” Alice jabbed an angry finger in the air as she spoke, as though she were poking an image of Douglas in the chest.
“You set him a task to prove himself!” Miss Templeton said with a smile. “Like the knights of old, who had to strive to be worthy of the lady’s hand. If he succeeds, I would say the love is not unrequited—”
“No, no, that’s not it at all!” Alice protested. “I merely challenged him to live up to ordinary, honorable, decent standards. And in any case, he is pursuing a very different sort of lady. One who will bring him wealth and prestige.”
The bitterness in her voice would be hard to miss. Miss Templeton eyed Alice with skepticism. “Are you sure you’re not in love with him?”
“I—I didn’t say that,” Alice faltered, on the cusp of admitting the entire, awful truth.
“Well, are you?” As in Alice’s school days, Miss Templeton’s pointed questions could not be shirked.
When it finally came out, her reply was barely audible. “Yes.”
With that small, half-whispered word, all the tears Alice had been holding back overflowed, like water over a dam. She was admitting to what was undoubtedly her greatest failing.
Miss Templeton gave her an appraising look. “I suppose next you’ll tell me you want nothing more than to have a husband and children. I thought I detected a certain note of longing in your voice when you described your visit to Ancaster.”
Alice hung her head. “I’m a weak, foolish, pathetic woman. I’ve fallen far short of the mark, I know, and made a miserable mess of my life.”
“My heavens,” Miss Templeton said, sounding highly disgruntled. “I always considered myself a superb educator, but clearly I didn’t do a good enough job.”
“It’s not your fault—it’s mine,” Alice insisted, swiping at
her wet cheeks. “I ought to have done better at living up to your standards.”
“On the contrary. From what I can tell, you have lived entirely up to the standards you thought I set for you.”
That one word—thought—penetrated the fog of Alice’s distress, arresting her attention so much that she stopped practically in midsob, catching her breath. Sniffling, she gave her mentor a questioning look. “Thought?”
Miss Templeton continued speaking in her crisp, authoritative voice. “If there’s one thing I taught all my girls, it was to have confidence in themselves and make the most of their gifts. Even the girls whose primary aim was to make a good marriage. Why do you think Lucy Arbuckle did so well for herself? She had more than mere beauty and more than the so-called ‘feminine wiles’—which are nothing but a cheap art practiced by those who have nothing better. She knew who she was, and she knew her worth. Just as you did.”
“But—” Alice stared at her, confused at this turn in the conversation. Miss Templeton knew that Alice and Lucy had remained friends after leaving school, but why was she mentioning her now? “I don’t remember you saying we should apply those principles to husband-hunting.”
Miss Templeton gave her that look that always telegraphed, Do try to keep up. “You were in a different curriculum, my dear.”
Alice’s mind went back to that day in Miss Templeton’s parlor. The day her course had been set. Had she somehow misunderstood?
Her mentor sighed. “However, God is the searcher of hearts, not Cornelia Templeton. Perhaps it wasn’t the most suitable course for you after all.”
“But you said only vapid and silly women allow their lives to be run by a husband.” Alice remembered this very well from the many lectures Miss Templeton had given to her pupils.
“Yes, but I never said only vapid and silly women get married. If that were the case, where would each new crop of bright young women come from? Granted, there are a few anomalies—”
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