Daniel knew he should have checked Miss Hale’s references before he hired her, yet he’d felt sure they were as genuine as the young woman herself. But if he didn’t check, his mother would pester him to death. “As soon as my classes are finished for the day, I’ll be on my way.”
He retreated to his home office and shuffled through papers and files, searching for the letters. Growing more and more impatient with his chronic habit of losing everything, he vowed to organize the chaos on his desk. The parlor maids straightened up every day, but somehow he wasn’t able to maintain neatness. Now where could he have put those recommendations? After a thorough search, he found them beneath a stack of books.
He scanned the names and addresses and noted all three people lived in Newport. Mrs. Amelia Hillman, Miss Hale’s aunt; Miss Edith Ann Wengle, a friend; and Mr. Henry Stapleton, a former teacher, now retired. Finding the trio should be a relatively simple task.
Later that day he drove the gig toward town, references in hand. He came to a stop on Spring Street and knocked on Mr. Stapleton’s door, but the woman who answered insisted she’d never heard of the man. Odd, but most likely the gentleman was getting on in years and wrote down an incorrect street number.
Next he called at the boardinghouse where Miss Wengle resided. The landlady, a Mrs. Foley, claimed the young woman worked at a newspaper until six o’clock, so he could return later if he wished.
Her lips thinned. “Oftentimes she stays around the office. Or”—one eye squinted—“she goes off gallivanting with her friends. I can’t say, but I have my suspicions.”
“Do you happen to know which newspaper employs her?” If she worked for the Newport Gazette, he might stop by to speak to her. He didn’t recognize her name, but she could be a new hire.
The elderly woman frowned. “Miss Wengle works for that rapscallion Arnie Phifer over at the Rhode Island Reporter. She’s ambitious, that one is.” Mrs. Foley took Daniel’s measure in one sweep of her rheumy eyes. “And what would you be wanting with her?”
“Miss Wengle wrote a recommendation for my children’s new governess. I’d like to ask her about it.”
“I see.” She had a skeptical glare in her eye that wouldn’t soften. “What’s your governess’s name?”
“Miss Hale. Charlotte Hale. Do you know her?”
The woman shook her head. “Never heard the name before. I’m quite sure she never comes to visit. I’d know if she did. No one gets inside my boardinghouse without my say-so.”
“Perhaps she and Miss Hale are school friends,” Daniel suggested.
“Not if your governess is from Newport. Edith Ann Wengle moved from Tiverton just a few months ago. May, I think it was. The only people she seems to know work with her.”
Taken aback by the implication of Mrs. Foley’s comment, Daniel felt his nerves tense. “No, Miss Hale wouldn’t be associated with the Rhode Island Reporter. Definitely not.”
Mrs. Foley shrugged her thick shoulders. “Then I can’t tell you how they know each other. If you’ll excuse me, I must be getting back to my stew.”
She left him in front of her closed door. Daniel boarded the gig and started toward his next destination. Questions concerning the two young women niggled at his mind. How had they met, and why would Miss Hale ask an employee of Arnie Phifer for a recommendation? Very peculiar. Yet he felt certain that if he questioned her, Miss Hale would offer a reasonable explanation.
He drove through town and soon arrived on the Point, his last stop. He was not surprised that the houses in this working class neighborhood needed more care than they received. Many labored as fishermen, ships carpenters, and chandlers and probably found little time or money to improve the exteriors of their century-old homes. Even Miss Hale’s home sagged in the middle.
He knocked on the door. Miss Hale spoke little about her family and when he asked, she only offered a few words. A thin woman of middle years opened the door, a wary expression etched on her face. Her dark, heavy-lidded eyes looked curious, but not unfriendly.
“May I help you?”
He tipped his bowler. “I’m Professor Daniel Wilmont, Miss Charlotte Hale’s new employer. She gave me a letter of recommendation written by her aunt, Mrs. Amelia Hillman. If I may, I’d like to speak to her.”
Alarm flashed across the woman’s face as she stepped onto the sidewalk. “There’s nothing wrong with Charlotte, is there? She’s not taken ill, I hope.”
Daniel gave a reassuring smile. “No, she’s fine. I’d merely like to check the accuracy of the reference.”
Her worried frown smoothed, though it didn’t quite disappear. “Do come inside. I’m Charlotte’s aunt, Mrs. Hillman.”
She led him into the tiny parlor cluttered with too much furniture and inexpensive bric-a-brac. Flimsy curtains let in enough sunlight to brighten the chocolate brown chairs and sofa. He inhaled the harbor breeze faintly tinged with salt and seaweed, a pungent scent. Mrs. Hillman directed him to an overstuffed chair by the mantel as she perched on the edge of the old settee.
A girl in a wheelchair glanced up from her knitting and flashed a broad smile. Mrs. Hillman introduced her as Charlotte’s sister, Becky. With wavy hair and brown eyes, Becky closely resembled Miss Hale. The girl’s green dress looked worn and faded, probably a hand-me-down.
Mrs. Hillman leaned forward. “What is it you’d like to know about Charlotte?”
“I’m checking merely to ensure Miss Hale is who she says she is.”
He expected the aunt to smile at his rather ridiculous statement and assure him Charlotte was indeed her beloved niece just as she claimed. Then he could return home to report to his mother her worries were unfounded. Instead, the color leeched from Mrs. Hillman’s lined face, leaving a grayish-white pallor.
Becky’s knitting needles clattered to the floor, distracting him from her aunt. He picked them up and handed them back to her.
“Thank you, Professor. Please excuse my clumsiness.” Becky bent over her half-finished mittens, and her needles immediately resumed their click-clack.
“Of course.” Why were they both so nervous? “Excuse me, but did I say something to upset you?” He turned his attention to Mrs. Hillman.
A tentative smile flickered across her face. “No, of course not. Now you wanted to know about my niece—yes, Charlotte Hale is my late brother’s daughter. She and Becky have lived with me here for ten years, ever since their parents passed on. I can assure you Charlotte is a most respectable and responsible young woman. You can ask anyone down at the—in the neighborhood. Everyone knows her.” Mrs. Hillman’s fingers picked at the crocheted armrest, and her mouth twitched as if she’d said more than she ought.
“I’m sure her character is above reproach.” Daniel stood to leave.
“Do you have any more questions, Professor Wilmont?” Mrs. Hillman asked as she rose and led him toward the front door.
“Why do you suppose your niece decided to take the job of governess? She graduated from high school, which is quite an accomplishment. Surely she could find a position more challenging than caring for my children this summer.”
Mrs. Hillman shook her head. “I think you ought to ask her, not me. Her decisions are her own.” Her mouth tightened.
“Did you approve of her accepting work outside your home?” He felt quite sure from her expression that she did not. Perhaps that was the undercurrent he was sensing.
She stared at her hands with regret. “I’m afraid I’m too arthritic to work anymore. Charlotte has supported Becky and me for several years. I don’t know what we’d have done without her. She’s a hardworking, generous girl.”
Daniel’s good opinion of Miss Hale—Charlotte—rose even higher than before. She labored diligently to support her family and never complained of her considerable responsibility. How could he not admire her loyalty and selflessness? His heart swelled with high regard for her virtues.
Yet, after he said good-bye and drove off, Daniel reviewed the visit in his mind. He wasn�
��t completely satisfied with Mrs. Hillman’s responses. Something didn’t seem quite right. What was it?
TEN
Tim smashed his red croquet ball through the last two curved wires and into the stake. His arms pumped in victory. “I won! I won!”
Charlotte clapped. “Indeed, you did. But now it’s time to practice piano.” She watched his face fall. “Come now,” she said, slipping an arm around his narrow shoulders, “there’s no need to glower. You’ll have it done before you know it.”
Ruthie gathered the wickets, balls, and mallets and headed for the storage room.
“Miss Hale, may I speak to you for a moment?” Professor Wilmont appeared on the veranda. With hands clasped behind his back and a frown twisting the corners of his mouth, he looked like he might be preparing a lecture. For her.
“Yes, sir.” She joined him beside the ferns as the children greeted their father and then disappeared inside the house.
He leveled a steady gaze. “I checked your references today.”
“Oh? Did you find everyone at home?” She flicked a weak smile.
“No, unfortunately not. Mr. Stapleton doesn’t live at his old address anymore. He must have moved.”
Charlotte’s throat went dry. “Yes, that’s the logical explanation.”
Daniel shrugged. “No matter. I did find your aunt, but your third reference, Miss Wengle, was at work.” He ran his fingers through his blond hair. “Miss Wengle’s landlady claimed she’s employed at the Rhode Island Reporter.” He looked straight into Charlotte’s eyes and she flinched. “Does she work for Arnie Phifer?”
A denial strangled in her throat. “I believe she does, sir.”
“Is she a friend of yours? The landlady said she only moved to Newport a short time ago.”
Charlotte’s legs melted to jelly. She gripped the porch rail. “That’s true.” Without thinking, she blurted, “Miss Wengle is my cousin. She recently moved here from Tiverton.”
Though Charlotte knew next to nothing about the woman, she did remember the name of her hometown. Edith Ann rarely talked to her, though Charlotte kept trying the friendly approach. Unsuccessfully. Right from the beginning Edith Ann let her know she’d stomp over anyone who stood in the way of her advancement.
Professor Wilmont’s frown deepened. “You should explain to her that Arnie Phifer is an unmitigated scoundrel. Tell her to apply at the Newport Gazette. It has an excellent reputation, unlike the Rhode Island—well, don’t get me started.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be sure to tell her.”
“Do that. No self-respecting young woman should work for that man.”
Charlotte nodded and then hurried to the back parlor, her face burning. She dropped to the sofa as Tim pounded out more sour notes than sweet ones.
She had to consider her family, not herself. Despite the myriad of reasons she needed her position, Professor Wilmont’s comments rang true. Perhaps Mr. Phifer didn’t deserve her allegiance. What was she to do?
Later, when she passed by the library she heard Mrs. Wilmont mention her name. Charlotte halted by the door and strained to catch the rest of the conversation.
“Did you check Charlotte’s references today?” Mrs. Wilmont, the old battleaxe, demanded in that imperious tone Charlotte had rapidly grown to hate.
“Yes, Mother. They’re in order,” Daniel said.
“Oh?” Mrs. Wilmont sounded skeptical. “Did you check them all?”
“Actually, only Miss Hale’s aunt was at home. Her cousin, Miss Wengle, and Mr. Stapleton, a former teacher, weren’t at home.”
Mrs. Wilmont harrumphed. “You can’t expect a relative to give anything but a glowing report. I’d like you to pursue Mr.
Stapleton just to be on the safe side. That would bring me peace of mind.”
“It’s not necessary, Mother. I trust Miss Hale and so should you.”
Charlotte pressed her lips in a grimace. She knew the woman wouldn’t give up. What if she discovered the truth? Hopefully, she’d be long gone from Summerhill and Mrs. Wilmont’s prying eyes and sharp tongue.
SOUNDS OF THE bridal procession filled the back lawn of Grassy Knoll, one of the most elaborate Bellevue Avenue mansions. Charlotte held her breath as Ruthie slowly proceeded down the path toward the gazebo where her mother’s cousin, Eloise Carstairs, would soon be joined in matrimony to Harlan Santerre, a railroad man and this season’s most eligible bachelor. At least that’s what Mrs. Finnegan claimed, and she knew nearly everything that transpired among the elite.
Behind Ruthie came a bevy of senior bridesmaids also dressed in pale pink silk and the matron of honor, looking stylish in mauve. Eloise slowly followed, leaning on her father’s arm. She looked lovely in white satin and her rather plain, flat face glowed with the joy of a happy bride. Her long lace veil, attached to a coronet of orange blossoms, streamed out behind her.
Two page boys gripped the corners so it didn’t touch the path strewn with rose petals. Poor Tim. His face grew pink as he marched forward in his royal blue velvet jacket, short trousers, and round collared shirt with a white crepe de chine bow.
The bride and her attendants arrived at the gazebo decorated with masses of greenery, mums, and lily of the valley. Music from the string quartet faded into the mid-afternoon hush, and the ceremony began. Charlotte glanced at Professor Wilmont standing beside her and smiled. The children had made it down the outdoor aisle without incident. The muscles in his face relaxed and he grinned back. He’d insisted she accompany him to the wedding to take care of the children’s needs.
The guests descended onto the gilded ballroom chairs set in rows on the freshly mown grass and listened to the couple declare their vows before the minister. Half an hour later Mr. and Mrs. Santerre walked arm in arm toward the hedged-in garden where they’d accept their guests’ congratulations and good wishes. Charlotte and Professor Wilmont passed through the reception line and then led the children into the dining room.
“I’m starving,” Tim said as he released the top button of his shirt. They all took plates from the long buffet table covered with an embroidered linen cloth and vases of pink and white roses. Charlotte spooned small amounts of ham mousse, creamed oysters, chicken a la king, and celery salad in tomato aspic onto her china plate and followed the Wilmonts out to the terrace where small tables were set up for dining.
A short time later Tim said, “I’m full for now.” He patted his stomach. He’d eaten all his dinner and more than his fair share of strawberry ice cream. “I think I’ll go play on the rocks.”
The professor frowned. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Why don’t you stay here with the rest of us?”
“I’ll watch him,” Ruthie volunteered.
Their father hesitated then looked toward Charlotte. “What do you think, Miss Hale?”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Charlotte said. “If they stay away from the edge.”
Daniel pulled a long face. “All right, but do be careful and come back soon.”
They were off. Charlotte sipped her tea as music from the ballroom floated to the terrace. She softly hummed the Viennese waltz. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed. Shall we watch the dancers?”
“Yes, I’d like that. But are you sure you want to be seen with a governess? Shouldn’t I disappear to the kitchen or someplace suitable for servants? I shouldn’t stay with the guests.”
“Nonsense. Shall we go now?”
“As you wish, sir.” Charlotte trailed him into the gilded ballroom scented with roses.
“Please dance with the ladies, sir. I see several of them eying you and glaring at me.” Charlotte laughed. “If they can’t figure out I’m only a governess, then they must be blind. I’m certainly not dressed well for a society wedding.”
She knew she looked respectable in a cream-colored skirt, ruffled blouse, and flowered hat she’d borrowed from Simone, who had great fashion sense. But she certainly didn’t blend with this social set. They’d
obviously spent a fortune on their fancy outfits and flashing jewels.
He tilted his head. “And I get the distinct impression you don’t care about the opinion of others.”
“To a fair extent.” She stepped back as dancers swept past.
And the professor stepped closer. “I’m not interested in dancing with any of these ladies. I know many of them and they’re quite charming, but we don’t have much in common.”
“Except you belong to the same set.”
He shrugged. “I’m afraid all my academic and religious pursuits would bore most of these ladies—along with my introverted personality.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and laughed. “You underestimate yourself, Professor.”
His face flushed. “No, I don’t believe so. I’ve always been more comfortable in a classroom than in a ballroom. When I was young I wanted to be outgoing like my brother, but I was tonguetied with the ladies.”
“Sir, I find you quite interesting.” He wasn’t shallow and full of superficial charm like Paul Seaton. She appreciated the professor’s sincerity and kindness. He appealed far more than any other man she’d ever met—not that it mattered.
He studied her intently for a moment. “May I have this dance, Miss Hale? Please don’t say no.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m honored, sir, but I don’t dance. I’ve never had time to learn.”
He chuckled. “With my two left feet I’m not the one to teach you. But if we shuffle around in the corner perhaps no one will notice we’re unskilled.”
“No, we can’t dance in the ballroom. Everyone will start talking about the professor and the governess.”
“It doesn’t matter to me, Miss Hale, if it doesn’t matter to you.”
Her heart fluttered. “But it would matter to your mother. Perhaps if we adjourned to the terrace it might be all right. But just one dance.”
Love on Assignment Page 13
