“That’s splendid. I’m sure you’ll gain much from the group.”
“I do hope so, Professor. I don’t want you to think badly of me.”
“Of course not. Why should I?” he asked as they strolled down the dirt lane. Cove Road ended at the edge of his property and provided a shortcut to Summerhill.
“Because I’m so unschooled in Scripture.”
But why did Miss LeBeau care about his opinion? He merely taught her one required course; he didn’t advise her about her studies. Her flirtatious attitude struck him as not quite genuine, her manner a little too bright and brittle. She prattled on and he only half listened to her high-pitched, breathy voice.
“The Prayer Circle scheduled a spiritual get-together in August, and I’m planning to attend. Aren’t you proud of me, Professor?”
Her white-gloved hand lightly touched the sleeve of his jacket, yet it struck like a burning coal. When he sidestepped, she lowered her arm, apparently unfazed by his movement. How could she find so many words to spout?
“Yes, I’m glad you’re seeking the Lord in such a tangible way.”
She chatted on about her new interest in spiritual things, and when she finally took a breath, he excused himself and hurried off, relieved to escape her capture.
CHARLOTTE LEFT THE children with the Hopkins’ governess, strode to the end of the road, and then crossed acres of freshly cut lawn to Summerhill. Once in the drawing room she found the housekeeper running a white-gloved hand across the polished surface of a side table.
“Mrs. Finnegan, it’s my afternoon off and I’d like to go into town. Do you know if anyone is headed in that direction?”
Inspecting her dust-free fingers, the older woman smiled with satisfaction. “It so happens I’m sending Grace on an errand. She’ll be taking the buggy. If you hurry you can catch her at the stable before she leaves.”
“Thank you.” Charlotte hastened back outside into the warm afternoon filled with humidity and birdsong. The buggy, pulled by a spirited black horse, rolled down the lane between the stable and the cottage. She waved at Grace, who halted the carriage by her side.
“Mrs. Finnegan said I might catch a ride with you. Are you going anywhere near Thames Street?”
“Indeed, I am. Hop in.”
For a while they chattered amiably about friends from the Point, the neighborhood where they’d both grown up. Then Grace turned toward her and cocked her head. “Charlotte, I’ve been wondering why you left the Rhode Island Reporter to work for the professor. He’s so hated by the newspaper. It seems a bit strange.”
Grace was connecting the dots, just as Charlotte feared she might. “I needed a job and the position of governess was available.”
“Did Mr. Phifer fire you?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No, he didn’t.” It was bad enough to deceive her old friend without lying.
“Hmm. Well, I’m glad you left there. Did you apply at the Newport Gazette? Surely they’d hire you.”
“Perhaps as a secretary, but certainly not as a reporter. While I decide about my future, I’m perfectly content to be a governess.”
Fortunately the traffic thickened and made conversation difficult. Grace stopped talking as she drove, though she looked deep in thought. And her brow creased with unasked questions. Charlotte clutched her hands in her lap until they reached Thames Street.
Stretched along the harbor, the narrow street boasted lunchrooms, taverns, and shops catering to the needs of the town folks who lived close by in cramped houses locked in crowded neighborhoods. Behind the stores closest to the waterfront, fishing boats and steamships rode through the waves and clogged the wharfs. The smell of fish and low tide filled her nostrils with a familiar and not unpleasant odor. Seagulls shrieked overhead and soared through an azure sky.
“You can let me off here, Grace. Thank you for the ride.”
As soon as the buggy halted, Charlotte hopped down. They agreed to meet at the same place in two hours. She waited for the carriage to disappear into the stream of traffic before she climbed the stairs to the offices of the Rhode Island Reporter. Unfortunately she’d have to stay away from Grace as much as possible to avoid her inquiries—unless she decided to confide in her old friend. That would bring her such comfort, yet it was a terrible gamble.
Right now she’d think only of her visit with Mr. Phifer. Dread wound up her spine and wrapped around her bones. If she let her nerves seize control, she’d never find her voice to rationally explain why she returned without a shred of damaging evidence. Just a few days ago she’d held high hopes of quickly discrediting Daniel Wilmont, but she’d found no proof or even suggestion of wrongdoing. Yet Mr. Phifer would most definitely appreciate and gloat over the news about President Ralston’s ultimatum. Perhaps that would be enough to appease her boss.
She passed through the newsroom on her way to Mr. Phifer’s office. Just as she raised her hand to knock on his door she heard voices from inside.
“See here, Arnold, you’ve got to stop Wilmont from writing anything further about the so-called rights of the worker. My employees are threatening to strike and close down the mills. If I can’t stop them, we’ll be forced to shut down. Do you have any idea how much money we’ll lose?”
Charlotte held her breath.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Mr. Phifer said. “I sent a girl to investigate the professor. She’ll uncover something we can use against him. There’s no doubt.”
“Make sure that she does. We can’t allow him to continue that column of his. He’s dangerous. I won’t stand for his interference.”
“I’ll take care of it, Sam.”
A big man, older and balder than Mr. Phifer, stormed into the corridor. When he was gone, the editor looked toward Charlotte. “That was my brother. Do come into my office, Miss Hale.”
“Yes, sir.” She gulped a big breath of stifling air. The rumble of carriage wheels floated through the open windows that overlooked the street.
“What have you got to report, Miss Hale?” His eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Apprehension sucked her throat dry, but Mr. Phifer awaited her account. Lifting her chin, she cleared her throat. She’d convey the good news first. She didn’t consider it good, not in the least, but Mr. Phifer would.
“Sir, Aquidneck College gave Professor Wilmont an ultimatum—either he quit his column or his teaching position.” The moment the words fell loose from her tongue, she wished they’d stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her stomach flipped and she feared she’d lose her breakfast. She should’ve let Mr. Phifer find out all on his own.
“Splendid. And what did he decide to do?” He rubbed his hands together in delight.
“I don’t believe he’s made a firm decision.”
She hadn’t personally contributed to the professor’s downfall, but she’d tattled like a gossipmonger. Even this small slice of success felt worse than a Quinsy sore throat. But at least she’d concluded her mission without really betraying the professor, at least not directly. His dilemma would soon become public knowledge whether or not she delivered the news first.
“What else did you learn, Miss Hale?” Mr. Phifer’s frown dragged her back to reality.
“Why, nothing else about the professor. Isn’t that enough, sir?”
“Certainly not. I need something that will stop him for good.”
Charlotte stared at her boss, surprised at his vindictiveness. “Sir, I searched Summerhill as well as I could.” She swallowed. “I looked through cabinets and boxes and—”
His mouth pursed. “Yes, yes, but what exactly did you discover?”
“Just dust and junk. Nothing unfavorable. If there’s any evidence against the professor, it’s most assuredly not in his home. Perhaps it’s hidden at his college office, but I’m afraid I have no access.”
His face turned as red as a tomato. Charlotte held her breath and waited for Mr. Phifer’s infamous temper.
His voice remained surprisingly steady. “I am distressed by yo
ur investigation, young woman. You obviously didn’t dig deep enough. Don’t just look with your eyes. Search with your nose and your hands.”
Who was she fooling? Surely Mr. Phifer coveted every bit of information. He’d want to decide what was pertinent. Now was the time to tell him about the journal if she was ever going to. But her tongue refused to form the words.
Of course her career might very well depend upon divulging that juicy tidbit. But she couldn’t bring herself to hand the journal over to Mr. Phifer and betray Professor Wilmont, a man who’d shown her nothing but kindness and patience. Any other boss would’ve sent her packing from her repeated impertinence. So far she’d only borrowed the book with the intention of returning it as soon as possible. She’d keep it to that.
Mr. Phifer frowned. “No, Miss Hale. I’m not satisfied with your efforts. Not at all.”
Here it comes. Charlotte braced herself. A future of grinding poverty flashed through her mind. She blinked back an onslaught of tears and straightened her spine. If she had to go, she’d leave with dignity.
He leaned forward, grasping his pipe in his teeth. “I expect much more from you, Miss Hale.” He glowered, causing her to flinch. “But fortunately I’ve recently received news that will set you on the right track.”
“Oh?” Was this a blessing or a curse?
Round eyes gleamed in a jowly face carved with lines that displayed every one of his fifty-plus years. “When you accepted this assignment, I mentioned I was following a lead about Professor Wilmont and a student. Do you remember?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice rattled like a sack of marbles. Was he providing a reprieve? She dare not hope for such luck.
“That lead has brought me explosive new information.” He leaned down and whispered close to her ear, exhaling a strong tobacco smell. “Last week I received an anonymous letter concerning Daniel Wilmont’s behavior.”
Charlotte’s heart lurched.
“Today I received another note.” His face lit with joyful animation as he picked up a piece of quality stationary and waved it in front of her. She caught a glimpse of the short message written with a bold, backhanded slant. “The writer claims Professor Wilmont is involved in an—improper relationship with a student.” His voice dropped to a confidential whisper. “Her name is Melissa LeBeau. They call her Missy. She’s a summer student in his New Testament Bible class.”
“That’s quite a tip,” Charlotte mumbled, her stomach tumbling.
“Yes, it surely is. Apparently the person doesn’t like the professor’s behavior any better than I do.” He stuck his thumb into a red suspender and thumped his fingers against his shirt. “This gives us a lot more to go on.”
“I wonder how the informant knows her name.”
Mr. Phifer shrugged. “I don’t know how the person obtained his information and I don’t much care as long as it’s accurate. That’s your job—to find out if he speaks the truth. You can do it, Miss Hale.”
“Yes, of course. I intend to. And thank you for the vote of confidence.” Relief washed though her, though she felt sure this second chance wouldn’t pan out either. If the professor was guilty, he deserved to be denounced, but she felt quite sure he was innocent.
“If you obtain the goods on Wilmont, your career will advance. There’s no telling where you’ll end up.” His eyes glinted. “But you must find some useful information.”
He was playing her. She knew it, but she couldn’t help glowing from his acclaim and the possibility of promotion along with a bigger paycheck. “I’ll do everything in my power, sir.”
His eyes squinted. “I expect you to follow him every time he’s with Missy LeBeau. Sooner or later you’ll find them in a ‘compromising’ position. I guarantee it.”
His self-assurance irked her. “How can you be so sure, sir?”
Mr. Phifer’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “He’s a man, isn’t he?” He challenged her with a raised eyebrow. “And reportedly, this Missy LeBeau is a beauty.”
A blast of heat scalded her cheeks. Although the professor didn’t seem the type to succumb to illicit passion, she didn’t know him well enough to predict his weaknesses. He was a Christian to the core. Didn’t his faith influence his conduct? Or were Christians just as quick to fall into sin as everyone else?
“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll keep my eye out for the young lady.”
“Do what it takes to catch them together. Question him about his students. Act interested. He’s bound to open up. And search Summerhill again with more care this time. I’ll wager he has a skeleton in at least one closet.”
“I’ll be sure to look under the beds too,” she said with a touch more sarcasm than she intended.
He glared at her. “What’s the matter? You look uneasy.”
She hesitated. “I’m as anxious as you are to discover the facts, Mr. Phifer, but I’m not comfortable using deceptive tactics.” There—she’d spewed what nibbled on her conscience.
“Miss Hale, you’re most definitely not deceiving anyone. You’re merely undercover. You’re a journalist on an investigation.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir. But my journalistic intuition tells me this new rumor is false. From what I’ve seen so far, the professor is too straight-laced to fall for a student. I believe you might be headed in the wrong direction.” She held her breath for his reaction. No doubt she’d gone too far.
Arnie Phifer snorted derision. “You’re the one who’s mistaken. My hunch tells me there’s hanky-panky going on and I’m seldom wrong about the weaknesses of human nature. You listen to me. I don’t care if it’s Missy LeBeau or something else, but you find me the method to stop Daniel Wilmont from writing another column—or something that will force him to move to California to escape the shame. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the quiver in her voice.
“Good.” He puffed on his pipe. “We don’t have a lot of time. Professor Wilmont’s preposterous ideas are sweeping through the region like wildfire. He’s stirring up the rabble. If we can stop him before this whole thing gets out of hand and becomes an actual movement, then we have an obligation to do it.”
“The power of the press,” Charlotte murmured.
“Yes, my dear Miss Hale. The power of the press is formidable. We’ll find something to silence Wilmont forever. A scandal will do the trick. And we must report it before this beautiful state of ours turns into a theocracy.”
Exasperated at Mr. Phifer’s penchant for exaggeration, Charlotte dropped her gaze. “If there’s really a story here, I’ll find it.”
“What do you mean, ‘If there’s really a story’? Of course there’s a story. You just have to dig it out.”
“If he’s behaving improperly with a student, then we have something to print. If he’s not, then we have nothing.” How much clearer could she be? But how far could she push him before he sacked her?
“The romance angle is only part of what I want you to look into. You have the opportunity to examine every aspect of his life. He might be concealing something else. Go through his belongings, especially his papers, once more. Talk to people in his church and at the college.”
“I shall.” She managed to keep the skepticism out of her voice.
He rose. Six feet tall and rotund, Arnie Phifer made a formidable figure. “As soon as you have something, tell me about it. Anything at all.”
“What if he’s innocent?” Her voice shook.
Arnie let out a grunt. “Nobody’s completely innocent.”
“No, I suppose not.” But Professor Wilmont was too moral to take unfair advantage of a vulnerable student—or so she thought. She’d have to prove it to Mr. Phifer or she’d find herself investigating the professor from now until doomsday—or until the editor fired her.
Mr. Phifer ushered her to the door.
On the walk home to Bridge Street, Charlotte tried to quiet the queasiness that rumbled through her stomach. Despite his certainty about the professor’s guilt, the es
teemed and feared Arnie Phifer might not be correct. How reliable was his anonymous source? He placed all his trust in a stranger without questioning the man’s facts or motive. An enemy of the professor might spread a rumor for reasons of his own.
Her every instinct screamed Professor Wilmont’s innocence, but only a thorough investigation would prove her right or wrong. She owed it to both men to uncover the truth, no matter where it led.
But all through her visit with Aunt Amelia and Becky, she wondered if she’d made a dreadful mistake accepting her assignment. If she pleaded her unsuitability for investigative work, Mr. Phifer would send the new reporter, Edith Ann Wengle, in her place. Now she would definitely appreciate the opportunity to shine. And snap up the promotion Charlotte needed so badly. And who knew how far Edith Ann would go in destroying Professor Wilmont’s reputation? She suspected the woman would even lie to give Mr. Phifer what he wanted.
“We miss you, Charlotte,” her aunt said as she served her a bowl of steaming clam chowder and oyster crackers in their cramped kitchen.
“I miss you both. I hope to finish up soon and come home.”
Becky wheeled herself to the table. Pain distorted her lovely facial features as she braced her back with her arm. Charlotte took a good look at her sister. When had Becky grown up? Even at thirteen, her stunning face and slender form promised future beauty. Enormous brown eyes and dark blond hair that curled around her heart-shaped face attracted attention. But being confined to a wheelchair would lessen her future opportunities for marriage. Chances were great she’d always depend upon Charlotte.
“Can you tell us who you’re working for?” Becky asked. “Aunt Amelia and I can keep a secret.”
Charlotte looked from her sister to her aunt. Amelia stood by the range, her arms folded across her chest. “You look troubled, Charlotte.”
Charlotte paused. “Yes, a bit. I’ll tell you the story if you promise not to breathe it to a soul.”
“You can trust your family,” Becky said. Aunt Amelia nodded as they gathered around the scarred kitchen table.
“I’m working as a governess for Professor Daniel Wilmont’s two children. He writes a religion column in the Newport Gazette.”
Love on Assignment Page 11
