To Write a Wrong

by Jen Turano

  “I’m sure Daphne meant no personal offense. Since she’s seemingly not read your books, you shouldn’t be too put out with her, not when the butler trope is known to be somewhat overused at times—not, of course, by a writer of your caliber but by other, less-accomplished writers.”

  “I don’t write trite.”

  “Then there’s nothing for you to take issue with, is there?”

  Charles looked as if he wanted to argue that point but was interrupted from doing so when they reached the group of guests gathered on the side lawn. Miss Martha Mulvey immediately handed Herman a mallet, but Charles shook his head.

  “No need to find me a mallet because I don’t enjoy croquet,” he said.

  “Of course you don’t” was all Miss Mulvey said in reply before she smiled at Herman. “Sheldon told me you prefer using the red mallet. I took it upon myself to get the red mallet for you so you wouldn’t have to miss playing with your favorite color.”

  Herman returned the smile. He’d only recently become acquainted with Martha after she took up the position of paid companion to Finetta’s grandmother and began attending the same gatherings that he and Finetta did. She was a pleasant young lady, who was very considerate, and it hadn’t escaped his notice that she and Sheldon were beginning to spend an inordinate amount of time together.

  “That was kind of you,” he said. “But tell me, where is Sheldon? I saw him this morning, but I haven’t seen him since. It’s not like him to miss the festivities we’ve planned.”

  “I believe he’s still on a research mission, trying to track down some historical articles for you. He was hopeful the local bookshop might have additional insight on books he could order to help him find whatever it is he needs to uncover for you.”

  “What research is that?” Daphne asked, coming to stand beside him, her eyes bright with curiosity behind the lenses of her stylish new spectacles.

  “I’ve been considering taking my characters in my latest draft on a quest to locate El Dorado,” Herman answered.

  The curiosity in her eyes increased. “Fascinating. Are you intending on having them discover the lost city of gold?”

  “I haven’t plotted that far out yet.”

  “A quest like that would certainly allow you to thrust your characters into some interesting scenes, and it’s unfortunate I didn’t know of your interest in El Dorado earlier. I’m an avid collector of research books, which I read to benefit my, ah, poems. I’ve encountered passages in some of those books that deal with El Dorado and would have been happy to share those books with you.”

  “You use research books to aid your poetry?” Charles asked as he joined them, evidently having been eavesdropping on their conversation.

  Daphne’s eyes narrowed for the briefest of seconds before she smiled. “I’m a writer of epic poems, my dear pumpkin. As such, I need to be well versed in history to do justice to my work. With that said, though, I won’t bore everyone here with more details regarding my poetry because that hardly makes for riveting conversations.”

  “I think I speak for all of us when I say no one could possibly be bored by you, Daphne,” Martha said, stepping forward and taking hold of Daphne’s arm. “But enough with the writing business. We’ve a game of croquet to play.”

  “I’m afraid all the mallets are spoken for, so I’ll be sitting this match out.”

  Realizing it could be a disaster in the making if Daphne was left out of the game when Charles wasn’t playing either, Herman handed her his mallet. “You must take my place.”

  It didn’t escape his notice that Daphne took the mallet rather reluctantly. “You have played croquet before, haven’t you?”

  She winced. “Played may be a bit of a stretch since I’ve never been what anyone could call an overly athletic sort. I normally muddle my way through games such as croquet.” She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze settling on her enormous bustle. “I’ve also never played while dressed in this particular state of fashion, which could turn problematic.”

  “I’m sure you’ll play well,” Martha said, sending Daphne a commiserating smile even as she gave her arm a pat. “It is difficult for we ladies to embrace an athletic attitude while dressed in the first state of fashion, but I have a feeling you’ll rise magnificently to the occasion.” With that, Martha tugged Daphne into motion, and together, the two ladies strolled away arm in arm, chatting as if they’d been close friends for years.

  “I can certainly see why you hired her,” Charles said, drawing his attention. “She possesses a great deal of feminine allure, but have a care, Herman. Ladies like Daphne are trouble.”

  The thought immediately sprang to mind that he might need to limit the time he spent in Charles’s company for the foreseeable future. “I didn’t hire Daphne because of her allure. I hired her because she knows how to type.”

  Charles’s attention immediately settled on Daphne’s retreating form as interest flickered through his eyes. “You don’t say. Is she any good at typing?”

  “She is.”

  Charles rubbed a hand over his chin. “I’ve been looking for a good typist.”

  “And you should probably continue looking because I doubt Daphne will be interested in typing for you after you made it a point to annoy her.”

  “Perhaps I should try to make amends for that,” Charles said even as he hurried away, leaving Herman behind.

  Herman made it all of three steps after Charles before he was pulled to a stop by Ann, who’d taken a very firm grip on his arm.

  “If you’re considering interceding between Charles and Daphne, I’m going to recommend you reconsider that,” she said. “Your grandmother believes Daphne has nefarious intentions. If Mildred sees you paying Daphne marked attention, we might very well have a situation on our hands that involves Daphne being yanked off the case and sent back to the city.”

  “I know my grandmother has her suspicions, but it’s not really fair to leave Daphne to deal with Charles Bonner on her own.”

  “Daphne’s perfectly capable of taking on a pompous man, but your grandmother might be a different story, unless you’re willing to disclose to Mildred what we’re actually doing here.”

  “Admitting to Grandmother that someone is out to murder me would certainly bring on a fit of the vapors, which would then see her repairing to her bed, which would then ruin her enjoyment of the house party.”

  “Then let Daphne get on with what she does best and keep your distance. If you’re concerned about your grandmother enjoying the house party, you should make an attempt to spend more time with the young ladies Mildred has taken such pains to invite here.” Ann nodded across the lawn. “Finetta is currently standing by herself. Your grandmother will be pleased if she sees you chatting it up with a lady she’s decided would make a wonderful Mrs. Herman Henderson.”

  “I’m not convinced Finetta actually wants to become Mrs. Henderson.”

  “You’ll never know the answer to that unless you spend more time with her, so go.”

  “I didn’t realize the ladies of Bleecker Street were quite so tenacious.”

  Ann grinned. “Tenacity is exactly why we’ve seen so much success, so go and let me get back to my job, as well.”

  Knowing it would please his grandmother if he sought Finetta out, he began making his way across the lawn, stopping every now and again to speak to different guests.

  After thanking Mr. Irwin Rosenward, a gentleman who was a family friend of Finetta and her grandmother, for his kind words about Herman’s latest book, he moved to stand beside Finetta.

  It did not escape his notice that Finetta immediately began inching away from him, her slight movements coming to an abrupt end when she was given a less-than-subtle shove by her grandmother, which had any space she’d been able to put between her and Herman disappearing in a flash. After sending her grandmother a grimace, she turned to him, a strained smile on her face.

  “I thought you were going to play croquet with your guests,” she be
gan.

  “We were short on mallets, but is that why you aren’t playing as well?”

  “No, I’m just not very good at croquet.” Finetta’s lips curved as she settled her attention on Daphne, who was laughing because she’d completely missed her ball after taking her first swing. “Daphne doesn’t seem to be very good at it either, but she doesn’t seem bothered by that.”

  “That’s because she’s an overly confident lady,” Mrs. Shoenburger said, stepping forward. “It’s been my experience, though, that gentlemen don’t appreciate overconfidence in a lady and much prefer a more demure and reserved nature.” She arched a brow Herman’s way. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Henderson?”

  “Demure is certainly an attribute most gentlemen appreciate” was all he could think to respond right as Daphne released another peal of laughter when her ball went rolling in the wrong direction and down a slope that left it woefully far from her intended target.

  “You’re going to have to hit that hard to get it back on the lawn,” Jay called to Daphne, who sent him a cheeky grin before she sauntered off in the direction of her ball, swinging her mallet back and forth as she went.

  The next few minutes passed in casual chitchat with Finetta and her grandmother, with Herman finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on their talk of the weather as Daphne kept circling her ball, checking out different angles as she waited her turn again.

  “Alright, Daphne, you’re up. Remember, hit it hard,” Jay called, which had Daphne readjusting her spectacles before she nodded, drew back, and with a resounding whack, sent the ball airborne, which was quite the feat given the heaviness of the ball.

  Unfortunately, it remained airborne for quite a long time, and concerningly enough, it was sailing directly for his grandmother.

  CHAPTER

  Nine

  “All things considered, that turned out far better than I expected. It could have been a catastrophe of epic proportions,” Daphne said, tugging off the high-heeled shoe that had caused her foot to go numb as Herman joined her beside the fallen tree trunk she’d plopped down on.

  “I suppose that’s one way of looking at the matter,” Herman began, raking a hand through hair that was standing on end. “Frankly, I think we should be thanking our lucky stars that my grandmother turned out to be far fleeter on her feet than I ever imagined. With that said, even though she managed to duck out of the way of a flying croquet ball, she’s now convinced you’ve got dastardly intentions toward her. I’m sure her overly active imagination is stewing about those intentions right now, even though she’s supposed to be resting up before dinner, along with the other guests. That means we’re still facing a catastrophe because she wants you gone by morning, when the first ferry departs for the city.”

  Daphne began rubbing her foot in earnest, hoping the feeling would return before she had to put her shoe back on following the impromptu meeting she was having with Herman in a secluded stretch of forest on his grand estate, their absence from the house hopefully going unnoticed due to the planned respite before dinner. “She can’t honestly believe I deliberately aimed for her, can she? Frankly, the only explanation I have for hitting that ball so hard is that Cooper’s physical exertion lessons must be having more of an impact than I thought.”

  “And I’m sure Cooper will be delighted to hear that. My grandmother, on the other hand, would take that theory as further proof you deliberately set your sights on her,” Herman said as Daphne leaned over to begin unlacing her other shoe, using the buttonhook she’d stashed in her bag. “Allow me,” Herman surprised her by saying, kneeling down and taking the buttonhook from her.

  After making short shrift of the many buttons and laces, he straightened and frowned as she eased off her shoe. “I realize Phillip provided you with a wardrobe that would do the most sophisticated of ladies proud, but you might want to abandon the heels for a day or two. You limped all the way here.”

  “Because I have a blister or three that have been plaguing me for the last hour,” Daphne said, reaching back into her bag to retrieve a small wad of cotton. “Turn around.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to remove my stockings to attend to the blisters.”

  Herman spun around, presenting her with his back.

  “Thank you,” she said, easing a stocking down her leg and wincing when she got a look at a blister that was red and puffy. Taking a second to wrap it in cotton, she rolled her stocking back up her leg, secured it with her garter, then moved to the other leg, wincing again when she found not one but two blisters on that foot. “I might have to become more active with the suffrage movement, because it’s becoming clear that if we women were to rise up against the restrictive and, need I add, painful fashions we’re expected to embrace, we’d be far happier.”

  “You’re going to add suffragist to your résumé now, along with inquiry agent and poet?”

  Daphne began wrapping cotton around her foot. “I’ve always had an interest in the suffrage movement, which only increased after becoming involved with the Bleecker Street Inquiry Agency. Being an inquiry agent has shown me to a greater extent how unjust the world is for women. We have extremely limited rights, even with our making up half the world’s population. Those limited rights have made it nearly impossible for us to procure positions that provide us with an income that would allow us to sustain anything but the bare minimal existence. That restricts our options for our futures and leaves marriage as the most viable option. With that said, for those of us who have chosen not to marry, we’re often painted with a very unkind brush. Everyone assumes we’re miserable women, bereft of the privilege of having a man look after our best interests.”

  “You’ve elected to never marry?”

  She slid her stocking over her foot. “I don’t know if I ever consciously made that decision, but I am twenty-five, well past the first blush of youth. The odds are not in my favor for settling into wedded bliss at this point in my life.”

  “Twenty-five is hardly ancient.”

  “It is if you’re a woman. Besides, it’s common knowledge that gentlemen prefer young ladies fresh out of the schoolroom. There’s a general belief that younger ladies are more manageable than older ones, who are far more opinionated.” She leaned forward and began the tedious process of buttoning herself back into her shoes, relieved to discover that the cotton was making her blisters less painful. A few minutes later, she smoothed the skirt of her afternoon gown back into place. “You may turn around again.”

  “Not all gentlemen are opposed to spending time with opinionated women,” Herman said as he settled himself on the tree trunk beside her.

  “I’m sure that’s true, but we’ve seen cases at the agency where husbands react in very unacceptable ways simply because their wives have the audacity to voice their opinions about one disturbing situation or another. One woman we represented was facing a stay in an asylum simply because she’d questioned her husband about the amount of time he’d been spending with an actress. He didn’t appreciate the questioning and was looking into having her committed, using female hysteria as the reason to see her locked away for however long he felt it necessary.”

  Herman immediately retrieved his notepad from his pocket. “What happened to that client?”

  “Eunice and Ivan Chernoff, who has worked for Eunice for years and is now, rather reluctantly I have to admit, involved with the agency, did some digging and discovered that this lady’s husband was involved in some shady business dealings. Those dealings would not have been looked upon favorably by the board of directors he serves with on a very profitable railroad venture. After Eunice disclosed what they’d discovered, the man decided it might be best to abandon his efforts to see his wife locked away.”

  “Why is Ivan reluctantly involved with the agency?”

  “He believes it puts Eunice in danger.”

  Herman frowned. “Do Eunice and Ivan enjoy more than a working relationship?”

  Daphne returned t
he frown. “I’ve never gotten that impression, but Ivan is remarkably protective of her. Truth be told, I’ve often wondered if they share some type of family relationship, such as siblings or cousins.”

  “You haven’t asked her?”

  “It’s Eunice. She’s very stingy with details concerning her life, and because she’s a rather frightening woman, no one presses her on the matter.”

  Herman smiled. “She is terrifying, especially with how she’s able to sneak up on a person.” His smile dimmed. “But tell me this, is it a frequent occurrence, men having women committed to asylums even if those women are not mentally unstable?”

  “Sadly, yes. I can personally attest to the truth of that since there was talk in my past because of my frequent fits of anxiety and swooning that I would benefit from a stay in an institution. I was not in accord with that talk and refused to consider an asylum as an option to cure me of my nerves.”

  “Someone wanted to have you committed?”

  “Indeed. A gentleman by the name of Mr. Thomas Sibley.” She blew out a breath. “Thomas is a friend of my family, specifically my brother Jack. Thomas didn’t appreciate it when I turned down what certainly wasn’t a marriage proposal but a demand. Frankly, he seemed flummoxed by the idea that a wallflower would reject him, which was apparently behind his conclusion that I was suffering from female hysteria. He then concluded I was in desperate need of a stint in the local asylum. He broached the subject with my mother, and when I realized she was actually taking his suggestion under consideration, I began making plans to leave Boston.”

  “That must have been a difficult decision for you to make.”

  The concern in Herman’s eyes left Daphne feeling a little fluttery, a feeling that was certainly unexpected, as well as providing her with a distraction that was hardly professional.

  She cleared her throat. “It was difficult to leave everything I knew behind, but I don’t regret it. However, we’re getting decidedly off topic.” She retrieved her notepad and pencil from her bag. “I’d like to go over just a few of my observations with you, beginning with what I’ve observed about Finetta. She was inching away from you earlier, lending me the distinct impression she really doesn’t care to be in your company.”