A Perfect Silhouette

by Judith Miller

  twenty-one

  SIX WEEKS HAD PASSED SINCE THE BALL, AND MORGAN still hadn’t spoken to his parents. Not that he hadn’t tried. After attending church the following day, he’d set aside his fear of being discovered, rented a horse, and traveled home. Lucy had greeted him at the rear door with a look of surprise, as well as the unexpected and distressing news that his parents were in Boston and wouldn’t return until two weeks before Christmas. When he’d asked about their exact whereabouts, she’d shrugged and said they hadn’t provided the particulars, only that they were going to Boston and when they would return.

  Their sudden departure had given him pause. Was that why they’d had Mr. Vance announce the winner? So they could make a hasty departure and avoid questions about the lottery? Did they believe interest in the distribution of lottery funds would wane? But what if they had mishandled the funds and curiosity continued to mount during their absence? What if there was a public outcry for an investigation? If the funds were mishandled by his parents, what would that mean for their future? Had his mother calculated the risks when she decided to organize a lottery? Morgan was certain there was more to this lottery than collecting money for charity, and while he didn’t want to believe his mother had planned to reimburse the Amoskeag Company with lottery funds, he couldn’t rule out the idea. She had told him she’d come up with a plan to repay the money to the company. He wanted to believe she wouldn’t stoop so low, but he couldn’t erase the thought from his mind. Had his father agreed to this scheme? He didn’t want to believe his father had given his approval, yet he doubted his mother could have managed without his knowledge.

  Morgan now dreaded going to bed at night. The darkness produced more worries than rest. If his parents had misused the money, would they step forward and admit their wrongdoing? And if they didn’t, would he have the courage to speak out against his own parents? The thought was chilling. Night after night, he prayed he wouldn’t be forced to make that difficult decision. Morgan attempted to tamp down his rising alarm. He prayed his mother could offer him answers. Answers that would ease his fears and foreboding.

  As the cold wind howled and blew a frigid December snowstorm into Manchester, Morgan longed to set matters aright with Mellie—not in bits and pieces but in one cleansing confession. But until he knew more details regarding the lottery, he could offer no more than bits and pieces. When Mr. Vance announced his mother had organized the lottery, Morgan had been stunned. Since then, thoughts of Mellie’s potential rejection mingled with worries about his parents paraded through his mind like soldiers marching into battle. While he’d anticipated revealing his identity to Mellie would prove difficult, he’d never considered the truth would be compounded by his mother’s involvement in the lottery. Once she learned everything, he doubted Mellie would want to become a member of the Stark family.

  Walking toward town, his thoughts bounded between the lottery and the situation with the copied drawings and patent. But his worries momentarily melted when he entered the shop and Mellie graced him with a dazzling smile. He stomped the snow from his boots and lifted his hand in greeting.

  A customer sat posing for his silhouette, and Mellie returned her attention to snipping his profile. Morgan wished he could cut a silhouette of Mellie perched on her stool with scissors and paper. What a perfect keepsake that would make, sitting on his bedside table.

  After shaking the snow from his coat and draping it across his arm, he strode toward a display of frames. There were several new photographs arranged in Mr. Harrison’s studio, as well as a new painting hanging on the wall—a sweeping landscape that portrayed the beauty of an autumn afternoon in New Hampshire. At the sound of footsteps, Morgan turned.

  “Admiring the new painting, I see.” Mr. Harrison moved to Morgan’s side. “It’s quite something, don’t you think?”

  Morgan nodded. “Did you purchase this for one of your customers?”

  Asa shook his head. “No. It was a gift from Samuel—for acting as his host while he was in Manchester. Quite a lovely gift of appreciation. I attempted to refuse, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “He’s left?” Morgan arched his brows. There were so many questions he’d wanted to ask Mr. Knoll. Questions about what objects he’d purchased—or stolen. The thought raced through his mind, and he silently chastised himself. It wasn’t fair to condemn the man without proof.

  “He left several weeks ago.”

  “So, he was returning home?” Morgan shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “No, he had unfinished business elsewhere that required his attention.” He drew his hand along his angular jaw.

  “I didn’t realize he’d completed his business here in Manchester.” Morgan had hoped to question Mr. Knoll, but maybe Mr. Harrison could provide a few answers. He couldn’t let the moment pass without at least trying to discover more. “Did Mr. Knoll locate that artwork he was intent upon finding? I believe he said you had news of some new piece—a combination of art and sculpture.”

  “You have a good memory. Mr. Knoll said he had mentioned the piece to you. No, we haven’t completed that transaction as yet, but I’m hopeful he’ll have good news to share and soon.”

  Morgan’s stomach tightened. “Where did Mr. Knoll go? Somewhere interesting, I’m sure.”

  “A visit to Washington. He wanted to spend a brief time with friends and hoped to accomplish some business while there.”

  Fear crawled up Morgan’s spine. Was Mr. Knoll going to make inquiries at the patent offices in Washington? He grasped Mr. Harrison’s forearm. “Who is Franklin Montee?”

  Mr. Harrison’s gaze dropped to his arm. “What’s come over you, Morgan? I have never heard of Franklin Montee, but from the way you clenched my arm, I assume he is of great importance to you.”

  Morgan’s face and ears tingled with heat. “Surely Mr. Knoll mentioned Mr. Montee’s name when the two of you were discussing your latest project.”

  Mr. Harrison frowned. “As I said, I’ve never heard of the man. Do you think he might have been a customer?” He looked over his shoulder toward the counter. “I could look in my ledgers and see if I’ve photographed a customer by that name.”

  “No. He wasn’t a customer. But perhaps he has some affiliation with a patent or the patent office in Washington?”

  The older man shook his head. “I don’t know anyone who works in the patent office. Samuel was going to meet an attorney friend who handles patent work, Lawrence Bledsoe. They planned to visit the patent office. Other than that, I don’t know anything about patents. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

  Morgan knew he shouldn’t continue pressing Mr. Harrison, but he couldn’t help himself. “What did Mr. Knoll think of the drawings I had stored in your back room?” He arched his brows. “As an engineer, I’m sure he offered his opinion to you?”

  Mr. Harrison’s eyes clouded with concern. “Are you feeling unwell, Morgan? I don’t know why you’re asking me these strange questions, but I can’t help you. I don’t know this Franklin Montee, and Mr. Knoll never spoke to me about your drawings.”

  An unbearable roar vibrated in Morgan’s ears as he watched Mr. Harrison walk toward the stairs.

  “Are you ready to go?” Mellie placed her hand on his arm.

  He turned and noticed she had already donned her cloak and hat. Why did everything seem easier to endure when she was near? Still, the last thing he wanted was to cause her more concern, so he forced a smile and offered her his arm. “I’m ready for anything with you by my side.”

  As they walked, Morgan’s thoughts returned to his earlier discussion with Mr. Harrison. Mellie prodded him to confide in her, but he revealed very little. They were a short distance from the boardinghouse when she pulled him to a stop.

  Taking his hands in hers, she faced him. “I can see that something has upset you. In fact, something has been bothering you for quite some time. You’re not yourself. What’s so terrible that you can’t tell me? What is wrong, Morgan?”

&nbs
p; “Mellie, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “If it concerns you, it concerns me. So long as you’re honest with me, there’s nothing you can say or do that will change how I’ve come to feel about you.”

  His stomach lurched, and he drew her into his arms. He wanted to tell her the truth about everything—who he really was and what he was doing at the Stark Mills, but he didn’t want to do it now. How could he tell her when he didn’t have all the answers himself? Right now, with the rest of his life in chaos, she was the only stable thing he could hold on to.

  Mellie finished her supper and pushed away from the table. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be late getting to the shop. Her shoulders slumped with weariness from the long hours at the mill. She longed to go upstairs with the other girls and lie across her bed. Granted, cutting silhouettes wasn’t difficult, but between her job at the mill and her cutting portraits at the photography shop, she never seemed to get enough sleep. She went to bed weary and woke up the same way. And now, with Morgan out of sorts since the night of the ball, she was having difficulty going to sleep at night.

  He wouldn’t discuss what was bothering him, but ever since he talked to Mr. Harrison last week, his odd behavior had compounded. She’d expected to see a quick return to his usual cheery nature, but that hadn’t happened. Instead, he remained troubled and lost in his own thoughts.

  The most he’d shared with her was that he needed to resolve several difficult problems, which he couldn’t discuss with anyone at the moment. She’d suggested he use his free time in the evenings to work toward a solution—partly because she hoped the added time would help him overcome his problems and partly because his moody countenance caused her customers discomfort. While he’d agreed with her decision, he insisted he would still come by at closing time to walk her home. And for that she was most grateful. Their walks were her favorite time of the day.

  She shrugged into her coat, preparing body and mind for her trek in the freezing nighttime air. On nights such as this, most of the girls remained at home, and Mellie doubted there would be many customers. Still, she had to go. Tying a woolen scarf over her lower face, she started down the front steps. Keeping her head bowed against the cold wind, she felt her fingers beginning to turn numb after walking only a quarter of a mile.

  Finally arriving at the store, Mellie rushed to the stove and stood facing the fire, hoping to warm herself before any customers came in. When she’d thawed a bit, she removed her coat, scarf, and bonnet, grabbed her chair, and positioned it near the stove. She might as well enjoy a bit of heat while she could, for there would be no comforting fire when she returned home to the frigid attic later this evening.

  Her eyes were at half-mast when the bell over the door jingled and startled her to attention. She jumped to her feet and forced a smile at the well-dressed matron, who surely would be interested in a photograph rather than a silhouette. Mellie approached the woman, all the while thinking that once she fetched Mr. Harrison, she could return to her cozy spot in front of the fire.

  The woman, wearing a carriage dress of green satin and a black satin pelisse trimmed in ermine, let her gaze wander around the shop before picking up one of Mellie’s Scherenschnitte cuttings of a bucolic scene with deer, rabbits, and children leading a cow and goat. She returned it to the shelf and exchanged it for an intricate cutting of butterflies and flowers.

  She glanced at Mellie. “These are quite lovely. I’d heard Mr. Harrison had someone creating lovely paper cuttings in his shop, but I didn’t imagine anything so beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” Mellie said with a nod. “Is there something I can help you with? Mr. Harrison does the photography. If you’d like to speak with him, I—”

  She lifted her hand and stayed Mellie. “No. You’re the one I want to speak with.”

  “Would you like a silhouette?”

  The woman shook her head. “No, thank you. What I would like is to have you attend a party I’m hosting Saturday evening.” Mellie’s mouth dropped open, and the woman quickly continued, “Not as a guest, of course, but to perform.”

  Mellie arched her brows. “Perform? I’m not sure I understand.”

  She cleared her throat. “I didn’t phrase that properly. I would like to have you cut silhouettes of my guests—at least those who would enjoy having a profile made of them—as a form of entertainment, as well as a gift. I believe ten dollars would be a fair payment. I realize it’s not much notice, but I’ve been out of town and now find myself rushing to make all of the party arrangements. You wouldn’t need to begin until nine o’clock, and I would provide you with a separate room in which to work.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t expect you to sit in the midst of the party to cut the profiles.”

  Mellie didn’t miss the woman’s intended slight. She didn’t want the hired help mingling as though she were a guest. And Mellie did wonder at the belatedness of the offer. Had the woman truly been out of town? Had she hoped to engage someone else to entertain her guests and been refused? Was Mellie an afterthought when the woman’s preferred entertainment wasn’t available? A part of her wanted to say she wasn’t interested, but to make ten dollars in a single evening was more than she could decline. Earning a week’s wages in one evening was unheard of—at least for her. Part of the money would provide her sister with an unexpected and welcome surprise. The rest Mellie would use for Christmas gifts for her niece and nephew.

  She set aside her earlier thoughts and nodded. “I would be pleased to provide paper cuttings for your guests on Saturday evening.”

  The woman turned toward the front of the shop. “Dear me! Look at it snowing out there. I need to be on my way. I don’t want my carriage getting stuck in the snow.” She strode toward the door. “Do wear the most appropriate dress you own, and I’ll send my carriage here to the shop at eight-thirty to provide you transportation.”

  She was out the door before Mellie could ask her name. And now that the woman was gone, Mellie realized she’d need Mr. Harrison’s permission to be away from the shop an hour before closing. And what if Mrs. Richards wouldn’t grant her special permission to return home late that evening? There would be no way to send word to the woman. If she couldn’t keep her appointment, there would be nothing to do but send word with the carriage driver the night of the party. No doubt the hostess of the party would arrive at the shop the following Monday and make a scene.

  First things first. There was no need to dwell on the negative. She walked to the rear of the store and called to Mr. Harrison. No doubt he was developing pictures. She disliked disturbing him, but a moment later he appeared at the top of the steps. “Is there a customer desiring a photograph?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I need to speak with you when you can spare me a few minutes.”

  He jogged down the steps. “No time like the present. My photographs need more time to develop in the solution. What can I do for you?”

  Mellie detailed her conversation with the woman. “I feel foolish for not asking her name, but judging from her attire and the coach that awaited her outside, I feel certain she’s a member of Manchester society.”

  Mr. Harrison sat down in the makeshift parlor he used for photographing customers. “I see. Well, this sounds like an excellent opportunity for you to show off your talents and to make a handsome sum. You’ve improved my business in the shop, so how could I refuse you?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Harrison. Now, I must hope my boardinghouse keeper will give me permission to return home after ten o’clock on Saturday night. If she isn’t agreeable, I’ll be here instead of entertaining guests at a society party.”

  “If she doesn’t readily agree, I’m sure the promise of a few pastries from the party and an extra twenty-five cents will do the trick.” He chuckled. “Or perhaps a free silhouette?”

  Mellie nodded. “I’ll keep your idea in mind, but let’s hope I don’t have to resort to such devices.”

  When Morgan arrived, she didn’t mention the Saturday night
engagement. In his current mood, she doubted whether he’d hear a word she said. Besides, part of her ten-dollar payment would go toward a Christmas gift for him, and she wanted it to be a surprise.

  Chapter

  twenty-two

  A FRIGID WIND CUT THROUGH MORGAN’S WOOL JACKET as he rode toward home. He’d received a brief message from his mother stating she and his father had arrived home, she would be hosting her annual Christmas party on Saturday, and he was expected to be present. Nothing more. No mention as to why they had gone to Boston without a word, no mention of the lottery, and no mention of the funds owed to the Amoskeag Company. Morgan needed answers, and now that his parents were home, he hoped to learn the truth.

  He circled around to the rear of the house and dismounted. Though Lucy was nowhere in sight, the aroma of biscuits and baked chicken greeted him the moment he stepped inside. His mouth watered as he continued down the hallway to his father’s study. The older man sat at his desk shuffling through a stack of papers. Morgan tapped on the doorjamb and cleared his throat.

  His father smiled and pushed to his feet. “Morgan! Good to see you, my boy. I wasn’t expecting a visit from you. I was certain you’d be here for the party on Saturday, but—”

  “Is Mother here? I’d like to speak to both of you. It’s important.”

  His father’s smile faded. “Something wrong?”

  “Yes. And it will be easier if I can speak to both of you at the same time.”

  His father gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit down and I’ll fetch her. I believe she and Lucy are going over the place settings for dinner on Saturday.”

  Morgan dropped into one of the chairs opposite his father’s desk and gathered his thoughts. He’d need to remain calm. If he was accusatory, his mother wouldn’t be forthcoming. He’d tried that approach with her in the past. She’d fold her hands in her lap, tighten her lips into a thin line, and stare into the distance.

  At the sound of murmuring voices in the hallway, he clenched his jaw. The veins in his neck constricted into tight cords. He forced himself to inhale a deep cleansing breath when his parents appeared at the doorway.