by Pamela Pope
‘It’s all right, Nanny,’ said Ellie. ‘I’m afraid I was delayed.’ She had half-closed the door behind her so that it was impossible to see in. ‘There’s someone here to see William. Would you mind leaving us, please?’
‘Of course, madam.’
Ellie picked him up. He smelt of lavender-perfumed soap.
‘Who is it, Mama? Who’s here? Is it Uncle Oliver?’
‘No, sweetheart, it’s not Uncle Oliver.’ She returned to the drawing room with him in her arms.
The tall man with jet-black hair came slowly towards them, but in spite of the gentle smile she sensed that Max was nervous. The child with equally dark hair, and so like the man about the nose and mouth, stared in disappointment because he was unfamiliar.
‘Hello, William,’ Max said. ‘I’m your Papa.’
The expression on his face as he beheld his son was difficult to read. It was as if a blind had come down over those discerning eyes to hide his inner feelings, and Ellie’s spine tingled. She had never known what went on in Max’s mind. He was an introvert who shied away from sharing personal thoughts, and to William he must have seemed very solemn. The little boy buried his face against his mother’s neck.
‘It’s all right, darling,’ she said. ‘Papa has come all the way from America to see us. Don’t you think you should say hello?’
‘No,’ William cried. ‘Go away!’
*
Max booked an hotel room for that night, but the bed was merely a place to rest his head. He couldn’t sleep.
His mind was churning. The revelations and tragedy of last twenty-four hours had left him dazed and he had to put his thoughts into some sort of order before the morning. Suddenly events from the past were boiling over to stain the future with problems he had never envisaged.
A gaslight outside the window cast a greenish glow on the ceiling and tree shadows moving over it gave an impression of the sea. It was hypnotic, but there was no peace. Images of Ellie and William crowded in to twist the knife already piercing his conscience. His desertion of them had taken on a new and even more damning significance, now that he knew the true state of affairs she had encountered in London. Only her strength of will would have seen her through — and her capacity to love. Old Sir Robert Cromer would have probably been incurable if she hadn’t loved him.
Love, too, had probably weakened Oliver. No doubt he had intended making off with the money once he had deposited Ellie with her grandfather. It must have come as a great shock to discover what awaited her, and he would have stayed initially out of sympathy and guilt. And now he was dead.
Max closed his eyes but the shadows still danced across his lids. He cupped his hands over them to bring darkness, his head aching badly as he peered into the black cavern within his palms.
Ellie’s love for himself had been full and unconditional. How could he have rejected it?
Oliver’s death was a blow of the greatest magnitude. The violence of it caused mystery and questions, and added pain. The suddenness, before personal grievances and reasons for his duplicity could be aired, made it doubly tragic. And it left Galina without a father.
‘You’re the one, Max, who should have responsibility for the child now,’ Momma had said, even before this had happened. ‘Oliver would want you to be her guardian in his absence now that Poppa is gone.’
He knew he would now have to accept that responsibility, but it was difficult to know in what practical capacity he could care for his small niece. He didn’t find it easy to communicate with children.
He had been avoiding the one great test of his emotions which had left him feeling even more devastated, and that was the meeting with his own son. Not for one moment had he expected to be so moved. Remembering his antipathy towards the baby in Chicago, he hadn’t anticipated any strong reaction in himself now, so it had come as an added shock when he’d experienced a powerful feeling of love and pride. The boy was exceptional. He was obviously very advanced for his age, and his looks were a combination of the best features in both parents, which made him a handsome child indeed. Max had stared at him incredulously, aware of his own stupidity as never before in denying himself the privilege of being with his son through the early years.
He dug his fingers into his temples until the pain was agony, but inflicting it brought no relief. He had wanted to take William out of his mother’s arms and draw him into his own with fierce possessiveness, but there would have been noisy resistance. William had looked at his father with mature antagonism, as if he knew everything about his betrayal. Any overture would have been rejected, and Max could only accept that he deserved nothing else.
He was a broken man.
*
The funeral of Oliver Devlin attracted an exceptionally large crowd, the mourners at St Michael’s Church overflowing into the square outside. Curiosity brought many to the scene, but there was a genuine feeling of sadness in the town that a businessman of Oliver’s calibre should be the victim of such a callous attack.
Ellie, dressed in black moiré silk, arrived with her husband to walk with him down the aisle as chief mourners. They alighted from the carriage drawn by two black horses and stood at the church entrance to await Grandfather Cromer, Julian and Millicent. Max was an elegant figure in an immaculate dark suit. Ellie was studying him surreptitiously when the occupants of the second carriage arrived and stepped down, so she saw his expression. It was the first sight of Julian which disturbed him.
He turned to Ellie. ‘Who is that man?’ he demanded urgently.
‘My Uncle Julian,’ she said. ‘Why? What’s the matter?’
‘I saw him leaving the Sun Hotel at the time Oliver was killed.’
‘You couldn’t have done. Julian would never go to such a place.’
‘I know it was him.’
Ellie glanced behind her to where Julian was talking to a group of senior men from Court Carriages. Black didn’t suit him. It took away what colour he normally had and gave him a drawn appearance, but he was animated in his conversation. He didn’t give the impression of a man with something shameful to hide.
‘Tell me how you’re so sure,’ she said.
Max didn’t hesitate. ‘He’s too distinctive for there to be any doubt. The high forehead, the light hair, the eyes …’
‘I’ll introduce you,’ said Ellie.
She put a gloved hand politely through the crook of his arm and they walked over to the group. Her uncle stopped in mid-sentence as she approached, and came towards her with a sympathetic expression.
‘My dear, this is a very sad day,’ he said, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. ‘Millicent and I are full of sorrow for you.’
It was the first time she had seen him since the killing. He had sent a letter of condolence expressing his deep sorrow at her bereavement, and saying how much he regretted losing a business partner and a friend, but he had asked her to forgive him for not calling in person. The loss of Oliver at the Works meant he was now having to undertake double the responsibility, and there would be no time before the funeral to visit her. Ellie had read between the lines. The excuse was the shelving of an awkward encounter.
‘Julian, I’d like you to meet my husband,’ Ellie said. ‘He’s over here on business. Max, this is my mother’s brother, Julian Cromer.’
‘It’s an honour to make your acquaintance,’ said Julian.
The two men shook hands, and to his credit Julian was the more friendly. He asked after Max’s journey and whether he intended to stay long in England.
Max was brusque in reply. ‘A week would have been sufficient. Now I’m not sure.’
‘Of course, Oliver was your brother-in-law. How sad that you arrived just too late to see him alive.’
Ellie listened to a brief exchange between them, and was sure Max had been mistaken about seeing Julian coming out of the Sun.
‘I was there when he died,’ said Max. ‘If I ever find the man who did it, I�
��ll ruin him.’
‘He deserves to hang,’ agreed Julian.
People were moving into church. Millicent came to her husband’s side and drew him into his place behind Max and Ellie. Grandfather Cromer, who grieved for Oliver as if he had been a son, walked between the two couples.
After the burial it was only necessary for these same five people to gather in the drawing room of Oliver’s house in Brunswick Place at the request of his solicitor, Mr Richard Cresswell of Messrs Radham Cresswell & Son. There were no other relatives or close associates to hear how Oliver had wished to dispose of his wealth. The day was sunny. A shaft of light from the long window was filled with dust specks, and it illuminated the photograph of his daughter which Oliver had shown to Ellie with such pride only recently in London. He had bought a silver frame for it. Poor Galina would never now know her father.
They sat on high-backed chairs. Ellie looked from one to the other with curiosity, wondering what their thoughts were. It was unlikely any one here except herself would benefit from Oliver’s will, unless it was Max. She was fairly confident of her own expectations. Oliver had told her on more than one occasion that should anything happen to him her financial future would be assured. How noble of him in the light of Max’s revelation! There would be provision made for Galina, of course, and Ellie wouldn’t begrudge it to the child. After all, Oliver had invested the money well and there would be far more than her original dowry.
Mr Cresswell undid the catches on his case with a loud clicking noise.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I will not take up much of your time,’ he said. ‘The business I have to carry out will be very brief.’ He took a single piece of paper from the case and closed the lid again. ‘There is only a single beneficiary following the death of my client.’
The room was warm and Millicent held a crystal bottle of smelling-salts beneath her nose. Max’s expression was inscrutable, and Grandfather Cromer’s head was lowered as if he was trying not to show interest in the proceedings. It was Julian who commanded Ellie’s attention, and for the first time she considered what this was going to mean to him. He looked anxious. There were indentations at the sides of his mouth from drawing his lips into a tight line, and by watching the rise and fall of the jet-headed pin in his cravat she could tell that his breathing was erratic. With Oliver dead and Ellie the inheritor of his wealth, Julian would have to accept her as his new partner in the business. The situation intrigued her.
‘I shall only be getting back what has always been rightfully mine,’ she mused. ‘Though I won’t tell Julian that.’
The solicitor seemed reluctant to disclose the information. He was a young man with curly brown hair and pimpled skin, obviously the ‘Son’ in the legal partnership, but his junior status in no way detracted from the shrewd light in his eyes. A fly buzzed annoyingly against the window pane.
‘I always advised Mr Devlin to the best of my ability,’ Richard Cresswell said at last, clearing his throat. ‘He was keen-minded and issued business instructions which never failed to improve his standing. He mainly relied on his own judgement, but he also took advice from me, on ail matters except one. Mr Devlin was strangely reluctant to arrange for his wishes to be known in the unlikely event of his demise. I frequently reminded him of the necessity, with so many assets to be disposed of should it occur, but he always deferred the moment.’
There was a stunned pause.
‘Are you saying Oliver didn’t make a will?’ asked Max, sitting forward in his seat.
It was as if no one in the room drew breath. The fly stopped buzzing.
‘There is no will,’ said Mr Cresswell. ‘Mr Devlin’s entire estate passes to his immediate relative, his only daughter living in America. Miss Galina Devlin inherits everything.’
All eyes turned incredulously to look at the photograph in the silver frame.
*
The revelation that a four-year-old girlchild had inherited a major part of one of Southampton’s chief industries came as a shock to the business community. It temporarily damaged trading with the company and caused rejoicing at Eastleigh. Mercifully, thanks to Max, the setback was short-lived.
The day following Oliver’s funeral brought the three people most affected together again for an urgent meeting in Julian’s office. Only Max was forward-thinking. Ellie, who now had even less than before, was too exhausted to contribute anything at the beginning, since whatever the outcome she would be the loser. Julian was pompous and full of furious resentment which had no doubt festered throughout the night.
‘I’ll sell everything I own to regain control,’ he stated. ‘Millicent will have to resign herself to getting rid of Fortune Cottage, the pictures will have to be sold, and the children will forego luxuries.’
Had it been left to Ellie he might have been successful in his bid, but she had lost all right to any say in the matter. Max was the one who could call the tune.
‘As Galina’s guardian I shall be looking after her interests,’ he said.
‘You’ll sell out her shares in Court Carriages, of course,’ said Julian smoothly. ‘You’ll want to realise the capital.’
‘No, she won’t need it. There’ll be enough money with Oliver’s own capital to provide everything my niece is going to need, but should it not be enough, I can sell the house.’
‘There’s no one to take Oliver’s place at the Works,’ said Ellie. Fatigue clouded her vision. She could see nothing beyond the spectre of Court Carriages falling into the hands of the receivers. ‘He was the drive behind every new idea. I’m sorry to have to say it, Julian, but if it hadn’t been for him there would have been no company to argue over.’
‘We’ll take over together, Ellie.’ Max spoke quietly and with confidence.
Julian protested by thumping his fist on the desk and declaring the suggestion an outrage.
Ellie stared at her husband coldly, amazed that he could even voice such an idea. Her answer was succinct. ‘Never!’
‘It’s the only sensible solution.’
‘It’s preposterous,’ shouted Julian. ‘A woman issuing orders!’
‘My wife is as capable as any man of running a business. She was brought up among railroad magnates and probably knew as much about the system in childhood as you do now, Cromer. She’s got knowledge and ability, and above all the courage to succeed against all odds.’
This was Max defending her, giving exceptional praise. Ellie listened with surprise. In Pullman he hadn’t even taken her into his confidence when the troubles started. How had he rated her intelligence then? Oh, she knew why he was being so lavish. He wanted her help now that so much responsibility had been put on him, but she had no intention of giving it.
Throughout the night she had tossed in sleepless confusion, tormented by the unfairness of everything. Just when she had begun to feel settled there had come yet another powerful shock to rob her of her security. It was like trying to climb a sandhill. There was no sure foothold in her life, and all she could do was look up from the bottom once more with determination not to stay there.
Max was full of plans. Galina would be brought over to live with them and they would be a family together in Oliver’s house. William would like having his cousin for company. He made it sound idyllic, but she offered no comment.
The men began arguing again forcibly while she sat in passive contemplation. Their heated words went over her head and she let them discuss the pros and cons of her merits as if she wasn’t there. Then Max addressed her.
‘An official document will be drawn up then, Ellie,’ he said. ‘I know Galina will be glad when she’s older. You’ll be a partner in the company and you’ll be consulted at all levels. When there are decisions to be made you will have an equal say.’
Ellie got up slowly. It was another bright day and the sun shone on her black hair which was drawn severely back from her face so that her beautiful features were accentuated. Her mouth relaxed into a gentle smile, th
e fullness of her lips moistened by the slow rotation of her tongue over them. Her eyes rested on Julian first with cool disinterest before moving on to her husband. She stood tall and straight.
‘I’m sorry, Max, I won’t be here to accept any of the consolation prizes you’re offering. I won’t stay in the same country as you, never mind the same house.’ She used the imperious tone of her pre-marriage days. ‘I shall return home to Chicago on the first available ship, and I’m taking William with me. Grandfather too, if he will come.’
A week later, clothes were packed for the three of them in the trunk which had accompanied her on that fateful voyage to Southampton, and she brushed off the dust of England from her shoes without a tinge of regret.
Ellie was leaving Max in an unenviable situation.
He called it desertion.
Part Three
William
Eighteen
After she had been back in Chicago a few weeks, it almost seemed to Ellie as if she had never been away. The Prairie Avenue mansion became her home once more. Papa had at last forgiven her, and she settled down to a renewed social life which helped to the ease the pain of all that had happened since she had quit the family home in the belief that love would compensate for everything. It wasn’t exactly the life she wanted but it was preferable to being in a state of perpetual turmoil, which she would have been, had she listened to Max.
She went shopping once more with Mama, choosing new gowns as if she were a girl again at the start of her first social season. And she looked at Chicago with new eyes. She had forgotten how impressive the tall buildings were: they appeared to touch the sky. The new Root’s twenty-storey Masonic Temple at State and Randolph had fourteen elevators which went from bottom to top and back again in three minutes, and there were hanging gardens on the roof. Where else in the world was there anything so impressive? Good entertainment, too, was something she had missed, and a visit to the Auditorium Theater at Michigan Avenue and Congress Street with Drew and Clarissa brought back so many memories she could have cried.
