by Rue Allyn
Then there was James. Lalie might not wish to share her memories of her marriage, but she already offered to talk about her brother. If Mae hoped to keep him at a distance until this marriage madness passed, she needed to understand him better. The more she thought, the more she believed that having Lalie stay at the manse would be the best thing for both of them.
“Well then, I suppose I could. You’re certain Aunt Lydia won’t mind?” Lalie asked James.
“I’m certain.”
Lalie’s face broke into a wide smile. “Thank you very much. I am delighted to accept your invitation.”
“It is my pleasure.” Mae beamed back. Beyond the fact that she liked Lalie, Mae was delighted to have a guest as proof to herself that the manse was no longer a hiding place. And with Lalie in residence, James would visit, so Mae would see him more often. The thought was bittersweet. Her feelings for him grew with each meeting, but their destinies lay in opposite directions. All she could do was savor the time she had with him.
• • •
Upon arrival at the manse Mae went in search of the housekeeper to discuss arrangements for Lalie’s stay. James followed Lalie into the formal parlor, then shut the doors.
She looked a question at him.
“I want to discuss Mae with you, and do not wish to be overheard.”
“Ah.” His sister sat on a high-backed divan.
James grabbed a chair set at right angles to her.
“While you are in residence here, I wish you will do something for me.”
“What?”
“You may not have noticed that Mae has grown thin and pale over the weeks since she began her charitable efforts.”
“You are correct. Our association is not long enough for me to have any basis for opinion, though I have heard an occasional comment about it from Hugh.”
James frowned. “He gossips?”
“No. He has a tendency to mumble his thoughts aloud when he believes himself to be alone.”
“You’re certain he’s never been careless or indiscreet?”
“Not in my presence. Though, since I’ve heard him, perhaps I should mention to him the possibility he may be overheard by others less careful than me.”
“That would be wise.”
“You were speaking of Mae’s health.”
“I’ve been made aware that she’s using her own money to fund the school and additional improvements to the cloth manufactory.”
“Is that a crime?”
“Not if a person can afford the expense. However, her grandfather was parsimonious to the extreme and had no fondness for his granddaughters. The terms of his will are a matter of public record.”
Lalie rolled her eyes. “Why he placed Mae and her sisters in such an awkward position is beyond reason.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Nonetheless, he did. Unfortunately, during the two-year period designated in the will the provisions made for the girls’ subsistence are totally inadequate. Mae has barely enough money to supply her with food, clothing and a home, yet she spends it on charity to mill workers.”
“Why? Doesn’t the will provide for equipment improvements and the employees’ well-being?”
“It does not. While I have a certain amount of discretion as executor, making broad improvements to an asset that will eventually be sold will cost more than the investment is worth. The estate would actually lose money, and I would be derelict in my duty. I explained this to Mae when her charitable expenses against the principal of the estate funds became so great, I was forced to tell her to stop.”
“You forbade her to give charity?”
“No. I said the Alden estate would not fund anything over fifty dollars.”
“Oh dear. She confided in me that the installments she pays on the purchase of the school building are seventy-five dollars. I’m also certain she spends a goodly amount on the dispensary supplies. Then there are the receptions she plans to hold for the business owners along the Charles River. You say she’s also purchasing new equipment for the mill?”
“She’s already had new spinning machines installed. I’ve received notice from several suppliers that she is negotiating safer power looms, among other equipment.”
“She’ll end in debtor’s prison.”
“I fear she will.”
“What do you wish me to do?”
“Insist on making purchases for food, clothing, anything you think you can legitimately pay for as a semi-permanent house guest. You may send the bills to me directly. If they come from you I can legitimately pay them as a personal expense from my own pocket without endangering Mae’s reputation.”
“That won’t be easy. Guests, no matter how permanent, aren’t expected to pay for their stay with friends.”
“If you must, make an arrangement with the housekeeper. Don’t talk to the butler. He appears to share Carlton Alden’s opinions on a large number of points.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Excellent, I’d also like to know…” He stopped speaking as he heard the doors behind him open.
“Dinner should be served within ten minutes, and the note has been sent to your aunt,” announced Mae.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next day, after he assisted Lalie with moving the last of her things to the manse, James went to his office to find that the Pinkerton files had at last been delivered. He read through the information and was disappointed to discover the report was incomplete. The background details on Hugh Kerry were thorough—a Boston native of hardworking Irish parents, the good doctor was exactly who and what he claimed to be—but Pinkertons continued to seek more information about Vincent Damato.
James thought a moment, then pulled out the description of the clod-throwing man Alvin and Tolley had provided. He knew there was a connection, but he could not put his finger on exactly what the connection was. It would come to him, he was certain. Meanwhile he had a pile of correspondence to attend to.
Ten letters into the pile, James stared, astonished, at the one in his hand, then checked the letterhead and read the missive for the third time. Yes, the letter came from one of the largest purveyors of cloth goods in New England, and yes, it requested to triple the amount of cloth it ordered from Alden Cloth Works, and yes, the author—signing on behalf of the owner, president and board of directors—complimented Alden Cloth Works on the significant improvement in the quality of its products. What in the world?
The only possible explanation was Mae’s new spinning machines, and perhaps some improved effort on the part of the workers. James couldn’t imagine what might motivate laborers to work harder, especially when he only had one, albeit significant, increased order as evidence of greater demand for Alden cloth.
By mid-day, he was tearing his hair out. Orders were streaming in from all over. At this rate, the value of Alden Cloth Works would increase so much, the profits would drive up the selling price of the manufactory and make the Boston Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals one of the wealthiest non-profit organizations in the country.
He had no problem with people who wished to care for stray animals, or with giving money to support that effort. However, if he could choose between the care of strays and the care of Mae Alden, Mae would win every time. If she would accept his proposal, he wouldn’t have to think about how much money the Society might gain once the will was finally executed. Her reluctance—even to an engagement—was pure foolishness and worried him. She was driving him insane with her refusal. It was past time for this nonsense to end. He’d see to that just as soon as he visited the mill to interview the candidates for manager. Although, what he would do to gain Mae’s co-operation, he wasn’t certain. How did one convince a young lioness to sheathe her claws and allow the lion to take care of her?
• • •
In the Eldstein brewery Mae struggled to attach a glass globe to a suspended gas light fixture. She couldn’t keep her mind on the task. Her thoughts continued to circle the unbearably gl
orious sensations she experienced in James’s arms. The feel of his body on hers. The pressure of his erection against her softness. His hands and what he’d done with them. She felt her face heat with remembered pleasure and the wish for more.
How could she deny them both such ecstasy and continue rejecting his proposal? How could she accept without risking her independence?
“Miss Alden, allow me to assist you.” The voice came from somewhere near her elbow.
Startled, she released the globe and grabbed the rails of the rickety ladder on which she balanced. The globe crashed to the floor, spreading milky shards like jagged ripples in a pool.
“Heavens, Vincent, you startled me.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve come to speak to you on a very personal matter.”
She wrinkled her brow. “Then would you please steady this ladder while I make my way to the floor?”
“Certainly. Allow me first to clear some of the shards away.”
Using his foot, he shoved a path clear of glass between the door and the ladder.
Once on solid footing, Mae faced her visitor. “How may I help you?”
“Dearest Mae. It is I who wish to help you. ”
Worry sat up and whispered in Mae’s ear. He’s not going to propose, please God. “Do you want to volunteer at the school or the dispensary? I had thought your business obligations would not allow you sufficient time.”
He reached for her hand.
She stepped back and put her hands behind her back.
“No, foolish Mae.” He actually grinned, as if calling her a fool was a compliment. “I wish, very much, for you to become my bride.”
“I am honored, but this is so sudden, especially with your dear wife leaving this world just months ago.”
“It is quite an honor, isn’t it? As to sudden, well, I’m aware of your sensitive situation, and since we enjoy each other’s company, I believe I can solve your problem with a minimum of discomfort.” He completely ignored her pointed reference to his recent loss.
Of all the arrogant, conceited, egotistical … she couldn’t think of enough insulting words. Was he actually discussing their marital relations before she’d even replied to his proposal? He was too much like Grandfather, assuming that a brainless female would simply follow orders. But if she declined Vincent’s offer, would he become violent as Grandfather did when her sisters defied him? She could dissemble as she had with Mr. Van Wynde, but she’d come so far from that cowardly way of life. She would not go back. Come Hades or the flood, she would not only refuse Vincent’s proposal, she’d put him in his place.
“I appreciate that you’ve come straight to your point. Allow me to be equally blunt.”
“I’ll be happy to hear your quick and honest yes.”
“Then you are destined to disappointment, Mr. Damato.”
He blinked as if he did not comprehend her words. “I thought you had agreed to call me Vincent.”
“I had but no longer. I not only refuse your inelegantly phrased proposal, but I would prefer to allow the Alden fortune to go to the dogs rather than marry a man who thinks me a fool.”
“Mae…” He walked toward her.
She retreated until her foot crunched on a piece of glass. “Please address me as Miss Alden. Though I prefer that you not address me at all.”
“You misunderstand me. Let me show you…” He reached for her.
She swooped down, scooped up the largest shard she could reach, then stood holding it before her like a knife. “Do. Not. Touch. Me.”
His eyes went wide, and he stepped back. “You can’t mean this.”
“I very much mean this. Now leave.”
“You’ll regret this decision, but I doubt I’ll be so generous as to offer marriage when you finally come to your senses.”
Hysteria battled fury. Anger buzzed in her ears, and her ire swelled. “Get out.”
He held up his hands, palms out, and backed toward the door. “I’m leaving. However, you should consider what your fate will be. You’ll never get a better offer.”
Reaching behind him, he grasped the latch, opened the door and left.
She stood for a while, dizzy with her emotional inner war. Long moments later, fury won. Mae threw the shard at the closed door. She kicked the ladder and it fell to the floor. Her foot ached but not enough to douse her temper. In quick succession, she scooped up shard after shard and sent them crashing at the door. She didn’t stop until pain lanced into her palm, forcing her to cry out. then she threw one last shard. The glass shattered with a satisfying crash.
• • •
“Mr. Barson, despite your excellent references and wealth of experience, I’m afraid I cannot offer you the manager’s position at Alden Cloth Works.” James struggled to control his voice and keep his expression bland.
“Why, sir? On the basis of Dr. Kerry’s letter, I’ve come a great distance and gone to considerable trouble to keep this appointment. That should prove my interest in the position, and I refuse to accept a rejection without reason.”
“Since you insist—you have issued a complaint with every answer you’ve given to my questions. Complaints about your former employers, former workers, the chair you are sitting in, the lack of refreshments and the unhealthful effects of being near the Charles River. How you came by your excellent references, I’m uncertain. Regardless, I refuse to saddle this company with a manager who will, in my estimation, do little more than whine and point fingers at others.” James stood, indicating the interview was over. “Good day, sir.”
He’d never seen a color of purple as sickly as that which flooded Barson’s already florid face.
“Well, I’ve never been so insulted in my life and for nothing but being honest.” Barson picked up his hat, coat and umbrella, then stomped toward the door.
“Your perception of my frankness as insult is all the more reason for you to seek employment elsewhere.”
The slamming door was Barson’s final response.
James sagged back into the chair, thumped his elbows on the desktop and dropped his head into his palms. Ten interviews and not a suitable candidate among them. He’d have Harry set up more interviews for next week. Fitzwalter had accepted John’s offer to be his personal secretary and had given notice. He’d be leaving in two weeks, not nearly enough time to hire and train a new man. Then there was the talk James intended to have with Mae, which he could delay no longer.
He put away the files containing the information on the candidates he’d interviewed today, found his hat and left the manufactory office, locking up behind him. At least he only had to cross the street to find Mae. She and Lalie had been supervising work at the school building all day. Last he heard, they hoped to open the building to students next week, starting with a reception on Monday. His lioness had even recruited two Catholic bishops, a gaggle of ministers—Negro and Caucasian—and a rabbi to help reassure the workers—mothers and fathers—that the school would be no danger to their children in either body or soul. The entire thing had him worried beyond belief.
Imagine putting Catholics, Protestants, Hebrews and Negroes all in one place and expecting peace to reign. Hell, the Irish couldn’t get along with each other, let alone anyone else. How was he supposed to allow Mae and Lalie to endanger themselves with such a group? Lalie was his sister, he had some influence over her. Mae? Quite, shy, little Mae Alden no longer existed.. He’d already limited monetary support from the estate, but without marriage, he had no way to stop her. The most he could do was to protect her from her own kind heart.
Her success with the improvements to the cloth mill tempered his fears a bit, and he knew if he was to have any hope of persuading her to scale back her school’s radical admission policies, he would have to apologize for his stubbornness regarding those improvements.
As James stepped onto the stairs leading to the old brewery’s front door, he noticed Vincent Damato at the top of the steps. The man stared at his feet, his expression distinctly
unhappy.
“Mr. Damato,” James acknowledged as their paths met. “Does the lintel offend you?
The man’s head snapped up, and he blinked. In the space of an instant his frown fled, replaced by a toothy smile. “Good day, Mr. Collins. I’ve received some bad news regarding my family.”
“I wasn’t aware you had family besides your sister.”
Damato lowered his lashes and stared past James’s shoulder. “I had hoped to change that. Alas, the lady has rejected me.”
The lady could only be Mae. James wanted to crow. However, a public display of joy at a fellow man’s sadness would be inappropriate. James schooled his features. “My condolences.”
Damato lifted his lashes and tilted his head aside. “Ah well, I shall come about. The lady’s happiness is all that is important.”
“A very noble sentiment,” he agreed.
Damato looked at his watch. “I must be going.” The younger man hurried down the steps and turned left at the bottom.
James watched him disappear around the corner at the next street. So Mae continued to reject proposals. He couldn’t be more pleased. Intentionally or no, she was leaving him a clear field, and he had something other contenders for her hand did not: patience. Although even that was wearing thin.
He entered the school building to find the hallway and the first floor rooms clean and empty—no construction materials, no workmen, no chattering women and no bodyguards. A thump, clatter, series of rapid fire crashes and one exclamation of pain from over his head sent him charging up the stairs to the second floor.
He found Mae in the room over the downstairs office. One hand cradled against her chest, she sat in the middle of the floor surrounded by shards of milk glass. Her eyes were closed and she bit her lower lip as if restraining tears. A ladder lay to one side.
Still holding the one palm against her chest, she carefully placed her other hand in a space among the shards and pushed. The awkward position and her skirts hampered her. She’d risen less than halfway before James was at her side. Grasping her waist, he plucked her up to cradle her against his chest.
