by Holly Bush
“Decline my request?” Schmitt said softly. “Let me spell something out. I’m not asking you to do this. I’m telling you to do this.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I won’t. If you’d like me to tender my resignation, I will.” Alex’s stomach roiled with the thought of quitting the job he’d come to enjoy even more than expected, notwithstanding Schmitt’s unpleasantness.
Schmitt smiled again. “That’s unfortunate. I’m sure your parents, especially your mother, your sainted mother, will be, let’s say, disappointed in the extreme. There’s always talk, even about events that happened years ago.”
A shiver trailed down Alex’s neck. “My mother? Why do you mention my mother?”
“Perhaps you should ask your father, boy.”
It was a threat, of that he was certain. He was as angry as he’d ever been and knew he’d not be able to hold on to his temper much longer. “I’ll do that, sir. Right now. I’ll be leaving for the afternoon.”
Schmitt nodded magnanimously. “Of course, Pendergast. Take whatever time you need today. We’ll speak of this tomorrow.”
Alexander stood, his arm straining to stay at his side and not wrap his fingers around Schmitt’s flabby neck. He walked the seven blocks to his family’s home and handed his hat and coat to the butler.
“Is my father home, or is he at the mill, Webster?”
“He is home, sir. In his office. May I bring you some coffee or sandwiches?”
Alexander shook his head. “No, thank you. I’d prefer to be uninterrupted.”
“Of course, sir.”
Alexander walked the length of the long downstairs hallway, his heels tapping on the black-and-white checked tile floors, past the paintings and the sculptures and the velvet draperies edging twelve-foot tall windows. He was accustomed to the wealth but not oblivious to it. He knew his father, and his father before him, to be hard workers and shrewd businessmen and that his mother and grandmother raised sons and daughters to be well-educated, refined, civic-minded, and prepared to take over the reins of a vast enterprise. He knocked on the door of his father’s office and opened it soon after.
“Come,” his father said without looking up. “I’ll have coffee, Webster.”
“Father,” Alexander said.
“Alexander! What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here in the middle of a workday?”
“I need to speak to you, sir, privately, and asked Webster to not disturb us.”
“Of course,” he said as he rose from behind his desk. “Let us sit in front of the fire, where it’s comfortable.”
“Actually, I’d prefer to stand.”
His father slowly lowered himself back to his desk chair, a concerned look on his face. “What is it? What is the matter?”
He repeated the conversation with Schmitt, beginning with the three men who’d walked past his office. “And then he said that Mother would be disappointed in the extreme and said I should ask you about it.”
Alex’s heart sank as he watched his father’s face. There was no change in his expression, but his eyes gave him away. There was something to what Schmitt had intimated.
“What is it, Father? Are we in money trouble?”
“What? No. No. The family fortune continues to grow after buying out your Uncle Nathan. You and your sister will be well situated even if the mill were to stop producing today.”
“Then what?”
Andrew Pendergast drew in a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “I knew this day would come sometime but managed to put it out of my head for months at a time. I should have never sent you to work for Schmitt, the bastard. He is just the type of man to use this.”
“Father. Tell me.”
Just as Pendergast opened his mouth to speak, the door to the office opened and his mother came through, looking as if she were twenty-eight years old instead of forty-eight. She smiled brilliantly when she saw him.
“Alexander, darling! I’ve been thinking about you, and here you appear.” Alexander submitted his cheek for her kiss, and she laughed as she rubbed away the lip rouge she’d left on his skin. “You look like some young and beautiful woman could not resist kissing you! But no. Just your mother,” she said and smiled warmly at him. “What brings you to see us? Although you know you never need a reason.”
“I . . . I had some business to discuss with Father.”
Gwen Pendergast glanced at her husband. “Well then, I’d best let you to it. Will you stay for dinner?”
Andrew stood, came around his desk, and slipped an arm around his wife’s waist. “You should stay, love. We’ve talked about it, and we decided long ago that we should both tell them if it ever became necessary.” He shook his head, staring into her eyes. “I am so, so sorry to cause you this pain.”
She turned her head and kissed his cheek. “It is old news, and we’ve long ago put it aside. Come,” she said to her husband and her son. “Come sit by the fire.”
Alexander watched his parents walk to the sofa hand in hand, his mother smiling up at his father and leaning her head against his shoulder. He was in awe of them. He’d never experienced a connection like they had, which was far more than the individual components of a marriage. They comforted each other, complemented a weakness with a strength, and were still attracted to each other; they loved each other. You could see it in their eyes. What were the chances he’d ever find the woman that fit him in the same way? He sat down across from them and was unnerved to see his father’s eyes glisten with tears.
“What? What is it?” he asked.
“I had an affair with a young woman after I married your mother,” his father said and looked at him directly. “There was a child from that union. Jonathon. He died from influenza when he was a little more than two years old.”
Briefly, Alexander was unsure if he’d heard correctly. Had his father just admitted to an affair? He glanced at his mother. She was looking at him serenely. They’d resolved this between themselves? But how could he ever view his father in the same worshipful way? How could he still hold him up to be the example of a life well lived? His mother replied as if she knew his thoughts.
“Your father admitted the infidelity to me very soon after he had told the woman he would not see her again. They had only been together a few times. When she told him she was with child, he told me, and we decided to support her. The child mustn’t be made to suffer,” she said. “Your father is a remarkable businessman and employer, still holding fast to the ethics of his family before him, a wonderful, caring father to you and Annabelle, and he would have been to Jonathon had he lived. I could never have wished for a more perfect person to share my life with, to be my husband, and I love him more every day. But he is still a man, Alexander. We are all tempted. His greatest fear has always been that he would be changed in your and your sister’s eyes.”
“I don’t know what to think,” he said and looked at his father. “I . . . I don’t want to think about it. The only thing I feel now is anger on Mother’s behalf.”
“Rightfully so,” his father said.
“Will you tell Annabelle now?”
“Yes,” his mother said. “She’s old enough.”
“How will you justify Father’s behavior to her? What will she do if a man is not faithful to her?” he asked. He turned and faced his father. “There are long-term consequences to your behavior, not the least of which is that I had a brother I did not know about. What were you thinking?”
“I was not thinking clearly. I was feeling as if my life, my carefree bachelor days, had been left behind, and there was nothing left to face except duty. It was childish of me. I made a horrific mistake and thank the dear Lord every day that Gwendolyn agreed to be my wife. I’ve spent the rest of my life trying to make up for my behavior of twenty-five years ago. But there is really nothing to be said except that I am extremely sorry.”
Alexander stood. Suddenly, he felt as if he could not get his breath. As if he did not get outside, he would suffocate. But
there was one additional thing that needed to be discussed. “I won’t let Schmitt drag your name through the mud. It is not right.”
His mother walked to him and kissed his cheek. “If Mr. Schmitt is attempting to blackmail you, don’t do it. Don’t do anything to protect your father or me. We are well able to protect ourselves, and the ones I would be concerned about, my parents and his, are unfortunately gone. We’ll talk to our brothers and sisters, if and when the time comes. Don’t compromise yourself, dear heart. Don’t do it.”
“Your mother is right. Stay the course, Alexander. You’re the best man I know,” his father said.
And that was it. That comment, which made him want to alternately hug his father and punch him, was the one that made him run out of his father’s office, out of his family home, down the street, to stop and lean down, panting, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. He needed time to think. He suddenly felt very alone.
Chapter 5
Elspeth threaded her needle and stitched the tear in Payden’s shirt sleeve. What a boy he was, she thought and smiled. His tutors had nothing but high praise for his intellect and his character. He’d soon be taller than her. Elspeth heard a knock at the front door and continued her stitching, although she did wonder who would be calling this late in the afternoon. The door to her room opened, and Kirsty peeped in.
“Your Mr. Pendergast is here. He’d like to speak to you.”
She looked up. “He is not my Mr. Pendergast.”
“Well, he’s not mine either, but it would be impolite to leave him standing on the stoop. He wouldn’t come inside.”
“Where is Muireall?”
“She’s out with Aunt Murdoch. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
Kirsty stared at her. “Are you going to let him stand there all evening until Muireall does come home?”
Elspeth wanted to see him, shocked at maybe how much she wanted to see him. And she could not understand Muireall’s belief that he presented some danger to their family. He just did not seem the type, notwithstanding her original opinion of him, and what could he possibly do anyway? Was it so outrageous to believe that he was interested in her? For herself? She sat her mending aside and stood. Her sister followed her down the stairs and watched as she pulled a worn shawl from the hook near the door around her shoulders.
“Do you want me to come outside with you?” Kirsty asked. “For propriety’s sake.”
Elspeth shook her head and opened the door. He looked every bit as handsome as she’d remembered, but there was something about his eyes. Something troubled.
“Mr. Pendergast?”
He looked at her and then looked away, twirling his hat in his hand.
“I’m not sure what brought me here,” he said.
She lifted her brows. “Well, something certainly did. Would you like to come inside?” she asked, realizing she was willing to risk her sister’s wrath over this man.
He shook his head. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
“Why—”
“Good day to you, Miss Thompson. I’m sorry to have interrupted your afternoon.” He turned and hurried down the stone steps.
Elspeth watched as he went. He appeared as a confident, well-to-do man on his way to fulfill some mission as he tipped his hat to a woman walking past him. But that was not what his eyes said. His eyes had said there was some vast roil in his world, and an unpleasant one at that. She slipped inside for her bonnet.
“Be careful, Elspeth,” Kirsty said.
She nodded and hurried down the steps and quickly turned in Mr. Pendergast’s direction, even though she could barely see him ahead, now a full block away.
“Mr. Pendergast! Mr. Pendergast!” she said as she closed the gap between them. “Mr. Pendergast! Wait!”
He stopped but did not turn until she was nearly upon him. “Mr. Pendergast, please,” she said, trying to calm her breathing. “You must tell me why . . . why you . . . have come to my home.”
“Miss Thompson, I don’t wish to damage your reputation. We cannot be seen together without inferring certain things to your neighbors.”
“Why did you come to my home? And where is your carriage? Or your horse?”
“I didn’t bring my carriage. I walked.”
“You walked?”
He shrugged. “I needed to clear my head.”
Elspeth stared at him, even though he was not looking back at her. She waited until he did. “What is it, Mr. Pendergast?” she whispered.
He looked up and down the street and nodded toward a bench in front of a small open area of trees. “Perhaps you would like to have a seat and catch your breath, Miss Thompson?”
She went as directed and seated herself. “Now tell me, Mr. Pendergast. Why did you walk all the way to my front door?” Several moments passed until he spoke.
“I found something out today about my family that was disturbing. More than disturbing, I suppose. It has changed my view of someone near and dear to me for the worse. I resent it. I resent knowing the facts, and I resent knowing that there are facts that have upset my view of the world.”
“Oh dear. That is troubling,” she said.
“It is. Very much so.”
Mr. Pendergast was still standing but had put one foot up on the bench, his elbow on his knee. He was shaking his head slowly and staring off into the trees, just getting their first buds. He looked lonely or maybe just alone. She wasn’t certain, but there was something in his attitude and bearing that made her want to offer comfort, even if that comfort required a confession herself.
“There are . . .” she began and stopped to clear her throat. “There are secrets in my family. My younger sister and brother and I have not been told all the details of our family history. I don’t know why. We came here thirteen years ago from Scotland with my parents and my Aunt Murdoch. She’s my great aunt actually. My parents died during the crossing and were buried at sea. We stayed in our berth with Aunt Murdoch when their bodies were . . .” She turned her head away sharply.
“I’m sorry to have brought up such painful memories. How old were you?”
“I was nine years old.”
She fell silent then, thinking about the glimpse she’d had of her mother’s and father’s bodies, wrapped in heavy white canvas. Even today, it made her short of breath and panicky. She looked up at him.
“I hope for your sake that your family, those near and dear to you, are not in danger. Even if there’s been some revelation that is upsetting, your loved one is still here on this earth. It’s not a trivial thing to be thankful that they are still alive or that whatever has come to light will somehow change your outlook. You can do both.”
Miss Thompson stared at him, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her words startled him, he thought as he concentrated on the arch of her brow and the contrasting shades of green in her eyes. Was he being ridiculous or overly emotional? He was going to have to think this through. Think through what he thought and why, especially in light of what she’d just said. He had a sudden vision of holding her hand in his and her leaning against him as they walked, her head occasionally tilting to touch her cheek to his shoulder.
“I love my parents and my sister. I’m very fond of my cousins and aunts and uncles. Even the ones who are less than pleasant,” he said, truthfully, he realized. “They’re my family, and my mother has always said there is nothing more important than family.”
“We have always been taught the same thing. That family is all there is.”
“But sometimes . . .” he whispered.
“Sometimes they do or say something that makes us furious.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Even still,” she said, “I cannot hate them or even stay mad for very long.”
He straightened away from the bench and shoved his hands in his pants pockets, knowing he was not conducting himself as the gentleman his mother insisted upon. How could his father have done what he did to his mother? It was impossible to square
that behavior with the way his father had always appeared, but did he love his father less? He didn’t think so.
“I doubt if I can either. I suppose we will see as I’ve never been this angry with him before.”
“Your father?”
He nodded and looked away. “He had an affair with a woman after he married my mother. He fathered a child.”
“Oh dear. No wonder you are angry.”
“Apparently, he did not see her too many times, but he did tell my mother when the woman told him she was expecting, and they decided together to support the child and its mother. The child died in infancy.”
“How terrible. But I’m glad that your mother and father supported the woman. Do you have any idea what usually happens to women who find themselves in that situation? They are maligned, even today in our modern world. They are looked down on and have little chance of a happy future. What happened to the woman? Do you know?”
“I don’t. I’m not sure I want to know any more details.”
“It can’t hurt you any more than it already has, I don’t think.”
She was right. He looked at her and found her staring at him. The initial anger and shock were wearing off, and it had much to do with her counsel. He felt like he could talk to her about anything, but that was not true because he could never tell her why he found out about his father’s affair in the first place. In fact, he wondered if he was putting her in any danger by talking to her publically like this. Certainly, Schmitt was not violent although that was not necessarily true as he’d recently seen him slap the woman from the brothel. He was crude and rough and not necessarily honest, even though he kept whatever inched close to false within the spirit of the law to himself, keeping Alexander out of meetings that might have illuminated that. She was certainly safe from Schmitt’s machinations. Wasn’t she?
But he didn’t want to leave her. She had calmed him and deflated his anger. Whatever his father had done, he was precious to him and alive. Something she could not say of her own father.
“You have been very kind to me, Miss Thompson. Allow me to escort you back to your house.”
