An Unlikely Suitor

by Nancy Moser

  “At the least.”

  Mavis gave Lucy a wink and a smile, and returned to the workroom. Lucy could easily imagine the chattering that would follow.

  Mr. Standish took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He nodded once to Lucy, as if coming to a conclusion. “I owe you a great debt, Miss Scarpelli. It was very courageous of you to go to such an extent to prove the deception, and to come to me with your knowledge. Let me assure you, Mr. Bonwitter will feel the fullest extent of my ire—and the law’s.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. I only want what’s best for the shop—and the girls.”

  “As do I, Miss Scarpelli. As do I.”

  Together they strode into the workroom. The ladies had gathered around the cutting table, and Lucy joined them. Mr. Standish paused. “I wish to apologize to all of you fine women for the dreadful, unsuitable behavior of Mr. Bonwitter. I had no idea . . .” He hung his head a moment and Lucy felt sorry for him. Then he regained his strength and she saw a firm resolve in his countenance. “I promise you will never see his face in this shop again.”

  Dorothy began the applause. Mr. Standish blushed, then left them. He would have a difficult day ahead.

  Once he was gone, the ladies gathered around Lucy, hugging her, kissing her cheeks, lauding her brave actions. Even Mrs. Flynn gave her a special nod and said, “Well done.”

  Then suddenly, Lucy remembered something. “I never told Mr. Standish about the red X’s!” she said. “Bonwitter will deny everything. You know he will.”

  “What red X’s?” Tessie asked.

  Lucy let Dorothy explain.

  “That was good thinking,” Leona said.

  Lucy was mad at herself. “If Mr. Standish doesn’t know about them, then Bonwitter will come up with some other explanation. Without proof he won’t go to jail.”

  “But Mr. Standish won’t let him back in here,” Dorothy said. “That’s our main concern, yes?”

  Yes. And no. With Bonwitter on the streets—with an angry, vengeful Bonwitter on the streets . . .

  Lucy shivered. This wasn’t over yet.

  Lucy tried to concentrate on her sewing, tried to revel in her victory. And yet . . . without the information about the red X’s, Bonwitter could get off.

  Mr. Standish was probably at the police station or at Bonwitter’s right now. And so Lucy hired a boy off the street for a nickel, ordering him to run a note to the nearest police station. Whether he would deliver the message or merely pocket the money was questionable.

  Mamma strolled by her table and put a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. It’s out of your hands now.”

  Which was the problem.

  It was nearly quitting time before Mr. Standish came back to the shop. “Gather round,” he said to the ladies.

  Lucy didn’t like the look on his face. She approached him, “Did you get my message? My note?”

  “What message?”

  Oh no. “I forgot to tell you that I sewed red X’s into the six stolen bolts of muslin, as a marker to prove they were ours.”

  Mr. Standish stood mute.

  “Is Bonwitter in jail?” Tessie asked.

  He shook his head. “He was not arrested.”

  “What?”

  “I accompanied the police to his house this morning and we discovered the muslin in question, as well as other sewing goods. I accused him of theft, but he offered a lengthy explanation about how he was readying to start his own dressmaking supply store, and the goods were legally his, bought and paid for from a supplier.”

  “But they’re not his,” Leona said.

  “He was very convincing, and the police had no grounds to arrest him.” He looked at Lucy, his face drawn. “I wish I would have known about your X’s.”

  Dorothy raised her hand. “I can vouch for them, sir. I saw her do it. I was her witness.”

  Mrs. Flynn spoke. “Can’t you tell the police about them now?”

  “I fear it’s too late.”

  “It’s never too late for justice,” Dorothy said.

  Mr. Standish put on his hat and tapped the bowl of it. “I suppose I must try.” He headed for the door, then paused. “But do take comfort in knowing he’s been fired. He will not return to Madame Moreau’s. I guarantee I will be dutiful about finding a replacement with true character.”

  “That’s something,” Sofia said.

  “But not enough.” Lucy paced between the tables. “If only I’d told Mr. Standish about the X’s.”

  Mamma put an arm around her shoulders. “You’ve told him now. He’ll take care of it.”

  “If it’s not too late,” Dolly said.

  She was shushed by the others, but her statement held true.

  Rowena sat at her mother’s desk, composing a letter to her best friend, Morrie. They’d known each other since they were children, and he alone knew the real Rowena, good and bad. He’d also proven himself to be a wise counselor. Barely a day went by when they didn’t talk.

  Until recently. For Morrie had already gone to Newport. Since he’d left New York, Rowena felt as though she were missing an important appendage to her person. Yes, her leg was one appendage that was crippled, but her peace of mind felt the lack of Morrie’s strengthening presence.

  She could hardly wait until she was also in Newport. She and Morrie would have much catching up to do. Until then, letters would have to suffice.

  My dear Morrie,

  I hope you are well in Newport. The house here is abuzz with preparations for our departure. As usual, Mother has ordered both of us a new wardrobe, but this time I am actually excited about it. I have met a talented girl, a seamstress, Lucy Scarpelli. She has done wonders with my outfits, and has magically made my infirmity fade from view. If I didn’t know better, I would propose that I could run and play as we did as children. Remember how we used to climb in the stables and walk along the rafters?

  She stopped the motion of her pen, letting the pleasant Morrie-memories settle. She could go on and on about the past, but he would see through her reminiscences and know she was revisiting those times as a way to deal with changes in her present. Morrie, above anyone else, knew how poorly Rowena dealt with change. And being told to fall in love with Edward was the biggest change of her life.

  If she was falling in love with him. Having never been in love, she had no model to measure against. She cared what happened to Edward. She thought about him often, kept account of his attributes, and anticipated their next meeting. But was that love or merely infatua—?

  “Hello, sister. Here I am, ready to assume the role of chaperone extraordinaire.”

  Rowena glanced at the clock on the mantel. Between the letter and her daydreaming, she’d lost track of time. Edward would be there any minute to take her on a carriage ride through Central Park.

  “Just a moment. I want to finish this letter to Morrie.”

  Hugh took a place behind her, trying to read it. “Tell him hello for me. And tell him I’ll be ready for a race with that new mare Father bought.”

  Rowena nodded, added the message from Hugh, and put the page in the envelope she’d already addressed.

  And none too soon, for Timbrook announced Edward’s arrival.

  He looked dashing in his gray morning coat and blue Windsor tie. Rowena loved how he was always fashionable yet didn’t dress like a dandy who lived for fashion. Edward, the man, always shone above whatever clothes he wore.

  It was a lovely day, and the open carriage allowed them to fully appreciate the Central Park Reservoir, the trees, and the blue sky. Rowena adjusted the angle of her parasol to keep the sun off her face.

  Hugh arranged the seating so Rowena could sit next to Edward while Hugh faced backward in the carriage, across from them. Being a weekday, the park was far from crowded, and with Hugh to entertain them with witty banter, Rowena was fully content.

  Until . . .

  “So, Edward. With our money and with you at the helm of our fathers’ business, the Langdon and DeWitt familie
s will surely give the Astors and Vanderbilts a good run for their money.”

  Rowena heard Edward pull in a breath. She couldn’t believe her brother’s audacity. To mention who was bringing what to the table was the epitome of uncouth. “Hugh, this isn’t the time,” she said.

  “Then when is, my dear Wena?” He stretched his arms across the back of his seat. “Although our fathers may barely talk about it—at least in our presence—I assure you, between them, they have been quite candid.” He looked directly at Edward. “Or perhaps they’ve been candid with you? I know I don’t deserve to hear the gory details, but you, as heir to the business, have surely earned their trust.” He raised an eyebrow in a challenging way.

  Finally Edward spoke. “With your talent for getting to the point, I can definitely see a place for you by my side. There’s no reason we can’t both take over when the time comes.”

  Hugh shook his head. “Unfortunately, my father has deemed me a man of few talents and much mischief.” He shrugged. “I dare not argue with the first, and must admit to the latter.”

  Rowena was horribly uncomfortable with the entire conversation. “Hugh . . . you know Father has a place for you in the business. He’s said as much.”

  “But not the helm.” He stretched his arms above his head and plucked a leaf from a passing branch. “I may be an heir, but alas I am not the chosen heir.”

  Rowena leaned toward him to touch his knee. He moved it to the side, avoiding her touch. Then he pointed to a food vendor and turned to the driver. “Stop! We need refreshment.” He hopped out of the carriage, leaving Rowena and Edward alone.

  “I’m sorry for his outspoken ways, Edward. I assure you it’s not directed at you per se, but stems from his frustration.”

  “I appreciate his candor,” Edward said. “And honestly, I’m not thrilled at being thrust into the business as the successor. Although I appreciate what our fathers have done, the elevator business is not my first love.”

  She hadn’t known this. “Then what is?”

  He smiled and looked past her to a place unseen to all eyes but his. Then he turned to her and said, “My first love is you, Rowena.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek.

  So this is what it felt like to fall in love.

  The workday ended with no more news about Bonwitter—which was fine with Sofia. If she never heard his name again . . .

  The three Scarpelli women went upstairs to their apartment. Sofia helped Mamma with dinner and watched Lucy mope.

  Who cared about some stupid X’s, anyway? Or whether or not Lucy told Mr. Standish about them? Her sister could get obsessed with details. She’d already played the heroine. What else did she want? Someone to write a dime novel about her?

  “Come, Lucia. Eat,” Mamma said as she placed two plates at the table.

  “I don’t want anything.”

  “Nonsense.”

  Lucy shook her head.

  She was acting like a baby being coaxed into eating its gruel. “If she doesn’t want to eat, Mamma, let her not—”

  “Shh!” In one quick motion Lucy stood and froze.

  Sofia had heard it too. Feet on the stairs. No one came up to their apartment. No one had a key to the door on the street level.

  Bonwitter?

  There was a knock on the door. Mamma whispered, “Girls, go in the bedroom. Shut the door.”

  “No, I’ll—”

  “Go,” Mamma said.

  “See what you’ve done,” Sofia told Lucy. She gladly went into the bedroom, but Lucy stayed in the main room with Mamma.

  Sofia looked around the bedroom for something to use as a weapon. If only she’d thought to get a knife from the kitchen. But now, her only choice was a hairbrush. She held it to her chest and closed the door most of the way, standing to the side so Bonwitter wouldn’t be able to see her.

  Lucy, doing what Sofia had not, grabbed a knife and held it behind her back. She nodded to Mamma, who asked, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Mr. Standish. I need to talk—”

  Mamma opened the front door and Sofia opened hers. Realizing she was holding the hairbrush, she ran it through her hair. They’d been silly, getting worked up over nothing. If Bonwitter wanted to get them, he wouldn’t knock on the door, he’d break it down.

  “I’m sorry to come so late, ladies, but—”

  “No, no. Come in, come in,” Mamma said.

  He saw the sisters and nodded. “Girls.” His gaze moved to the knife in Lucy’s hand. “You were expecting someone else?”

  Lucy got to the point. “What did the police do with the information about the X’s?”

  “Girls,” Mamma said. “Where are your manners? Mr. Standish, please sit down.”

  He took Mamma’s chair, and Sofia and Mamma pulled other chairs close. Lucy stood.

  Unfortunately, the look on Mr. Standish’s face did not reveal a victory.

  “The police were very interested in the information about the X’s, Lucy. They commented on the wisdom of such a move. So for that, we all commend you.”

  “I don’t want commendation, I want—”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Mamma beat Sofia to the question.

  “The police went to Bonwitter’s house to check for the X’s and found him gone. Moved out.”

  The implications were horrendous. “Not only will he not be arrested, he’s on the loose?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Sofia remembered Bonwitter’s eyes, the smell of his breath, the pain of his grip. “He’ll come after us, won’t he?”

  “Will he?” Mamma asked.

  Lucy crossed her arms, making a protective wall over her chest. “He’ll at least come after me. I cost him his job and set the police on him.”

  Mamma crossed herself, and Sofia heard her utter a prayer.

  “I’m afraid there is that chance,” Mr. Standish said. “For not only has he lost his job, he’s lost his source for stolen goods. I’m so sorry, Lucy. You did all the right things, but—”

  “But one. I didn’t tell you about the X’s in time.”

  He raised a hand. “We each have many should-have-dones to suffer. But know that I do not take Bonwitter’s freedom lightly. I have informed the neighborhood policemen to keep an eye out.”

  Neighborhood police wouldn’t have much incentive protecting three working-class women. “That’s not enough,” Sofia said. “We need to move to a place where he can’t find us.”

  “I didn’t mean to bring this kind of danger upon us,” Lucy said.

  “No, indeed you did not.” Mr. Standish stood. “But let me assure you, I will do my best to keep you and your family safe. I promise.”

  He refused Mamma’s offer of dinner and left them. Sofia looked out the window and saw him walk across the street to talk to a policeman. “He’s there. He’s really going to stand there and guard us.”

  Mamma pulled the curtain closed. “Come, girls. Let us eat, thank God for Mr. Standish, and pray for God’s protection. Che sarà sarà—what is to be, will be.”

  This was all Lucy’s fault.

  Rowena opened the window of her bedroom and stood before it. There was absolutely no breeze. Summers in New York could be unbearable. At least in Newport there was relief from the breeze off the ocean.

  Speaking of which . . . Mother had instructed all of them to make a list of what to pack for Newport.

  Rowena stood to the side of the lace curtains and spread open her dressing gown. For the briefest moment she felt some relief. But when there was a knock at her door she pulled it shut again. “Yes?”

  “It’s me, Wena. Let me in.”

  What did Hugh want at this time of night?

  She let him in. He too was ready for bed, wearing his pajamas and a robe.

  “What?” she asked. “You’re not going out tonight? What will your friends do without you?”

  He put his hands in the robe pockets. “Don’t be cruel, Wena. Not you.”

/>   She was being cruel and chastised herself for it. “I’m sorry. Have a seat. I’m trying to put together my list for Newport, but am finding it difficult to function in this stifling heat.”

  He went to the window and was able to open it a few inches more. He leaned against the sill, looking out over the darkened street below. “No air out here either.”

  She feared for his safety. “Hugh, come in. You’ll lose your balance.”

  He came inside and sat upon the edge of her bed, hooking his slippered feet on the side rail. “I saw Edward kiss you today.”

  Rowena felt herself blush, and returned to the chair and her list on the table close by. “It was just a small kiss.”

  “Don’t get defensive. It’s not like you haven’t kissed—” He paused and studied her face. “You haven’t been kissed before, have you?”

  She dipped her head to her list, trying to hide her blush. “None of your business.”

  She expected another snide remark but was surprised when he simply said, “Edward is a good man.”

  It was not like Hugh to concede an attribute in another. “You’re a good man too, brother.”

  With his hands perched on the bed near either hip, he straightened his arms and shrugged. “I wish you were right.”

  She’d never seen him so pitiful. “I am right. You are a good man. You just have to show it more often.”

  With a soft laugh he hopped off the bed and strolled around the room. “It’s far easier to be otherwise, far easier to be the wag and the life of the party.”

  “Can’t you work hard and play hard?”

  He stopped fingering a bird statue on the mantel and looked at her. “Why should I try? The business won’t be mine to run, it will be Edward’s.”

  Rowena felt bad for him, and yet . . . “Must you be in charge? Can you find fulfillment in another role?”

  “Accept being a prince when being king was in my grasp?”

  She stood to go to him. “But was it in your grasp, Hugh? Was Father considering you for that role before he and Mr. DeWitt set their sights on Edward?”

  His face struggled to maintain composure, and Rowena saw flashes of the little brother who still lived within this grown frame. He offered a laugh that was only partly successful. “Cruel twice in one conversation, Wena? Perhaps being kissed has changed you for the worse.”