In Good Company

by Jen Turano

  Tightening his grip on their arms, Everett prodded them forward. “There’s nothing wrong with either one of you, and just so you know . . . I’ve recently come to the conclusion that I might very well be a snob, but I’m trying to work on that.”

  Not giving the ladies an opportunity to balk, Everett increased his pace, practically dragging them beside him as he moved through the door and into the entranceway. Glancing around, his temper began to simmer when he realized that every guest was sending him covert glances, even as they pretended they hadn’t noticed him.

  His temper went from simmering to boiling in a split second.

  Their behavior was completely unacceptable, but . . . how many times had he witnessed his friends giving people they considered undesirable the cut direct? How many times had he witnessed abuses directed at domestics working in different houses, yet never once objected to that abuse, at least not aloud?

  “We really don’t have time for you to make some sort of a stand, something the expression on your face seems to suggest you’re contemplating,” Lucetta said, amusement lacing her words. “But if you’re determined to make some sort of spectacular stand at a later date, I could see if we can find you a small part in my play. That would show them.”

  “I’m not finding the attention, and all that goes with that, humorous at the moment.”

  “But if you can’t find humor in this,” Millie whispered, “it’ll simply make you mad. You don’t have the luxury to allow your temper to get away with you, so ignore the slights. I always do.”

  That Millie and Lucetta were so matter of fact about the clear snubs they were receiving sent additional temper, mixed with shame, straight through him.

  It truly was deplorable, the behavior of the people he’d always considered good company. Millie and Lucetta were both kind, intelligent, and remarkable ladies, but because they didn’t possess the right social status, they were ostracized, and that—

  “Mr. Mulberry, how delightful to see you again.”

  Shifting his attention from a circle of fashionably dressed young ladies who’d taken to tittering behind their hands, Everett settled it on an anxious-looking gentleman, a gentleman Everett thought might be one of the managers of the Casino.

  “Ah, Mr . . .”

  “Mr. Bancroft,” Millie finished for him as he struggled for the manager’s name. “It’s me, Miss Longfellow. I don’t know if you remember or not, but we met over a week ago, when I was here to play tennis. You found me a spare racquet.” She beamed at the man.

  “Ah, well, yes, of course I remember you, Miss Longfellow,” Mr. Bancroft said, looking just a little pained. “How could I forget a lady who knocked another lady right off her feet?”

  To Everett’s surprise, Millie sent Mr. Bancroft a wink. “Bet that had everyone talking for a good long time.”

  “Oh, they haven’t finished quite yet.” Mr. Bancroft turned back to Everett. “What may I help you with this afternoon?”

  “We’d like a table for three in the dining room,” Everett heard come out of his mouth as Millie and Lucetta gaped at him.

  Mr. Bancroft began to turn red as he lifted his hand and tugged on his tie. “I’m afraid the dining room is full at the moment, Mr. Mulberry, but I do have a nice, private room that might suit you better.”

  “We’ll wait for a table to open up.”

  “Honestly, Everett, stop being difficult,” Lucetta muttered before she breezed past him and smiled at Mr. Bancroft right before a throaty laugh escaped her lips. “Don’t mind Mr. Mulberry, my dear Mr. Bancroft. We’re not here to dine but to speak with a Mr. Victor. He’s newly arrived in Newport, but we’ve been told he might be here at the moment.” Her smile widened as she batted long lashes Mr. Bancroft’s way.

  “He’s in a private room, dining with his wife,” Mr. Bancroft said in a voice that was barely audible. “Would you like me to show you to him?”

  “That would be kind of you.”

  Before Everett could badger the manager further—something he really wanted to do, just as he really wanted to sit down and order a five-course meal in the middle of the dining room with Millie and Lucetta—he found himself trailing after the ladies as every guest turned their way.

  Knocking once on a closed door, Mr. Bancroft opened it and stuck his head in. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Victor, but Mr. Mulberry would like to speak with you. May I tell him you’re available?”

  Everett didn’t hear the response, but since Mr. Bancroft opened the door fully and stepped aside, he assumed Mr. Victor had agreed to see him. Moving into the private dining room, he stopped and took a moment to consider the gentleman now rising from the table and staring back at him.

  He was younger than Everett had expected, no older than midthirties, and he was polished and incredibly well dressed, with every dark hair on his head perfectly in place and his tie tied to perfection. Everett glanced to the left and found an elegant lady sitting at the table, her hair coiffed in an elaborate fashion, one that had certainly been coiffed by a servant, and wearing a stunning day dress cut in the latest style, designed by Worth, if he wasn’t much mistaken.

  A million questions crowded his brain, but he forced a smile and moved forward to shake the hand Mr. Victor was now extending him.

  “Mr. Victor, I’m Mr. Everett Mulberry.”

  Mr. Victor squeezed Everett’s hand a little harder than was strictly necessary, and then released it, nodding to the lady sitting at the table. “My wife, Mrs. Victor.”

  Everett walked over to Mrs. Victor and took her hand, kissing it properly before he nodded to Millie and Lucetta, who were standing right inside the doorway. “My friends, Miss Longfellow and Miss Plum.”

  Not taking his attention away from Everett, Mr. Victor simply waved a hand in their direction, that action causing Everett’s hands to clench.

  “The captain of the Adoring Violet told us we could find you here,” Everett finally said when Mr. Victor didn’t bother to speak.

  “He should have told you I was intending to come to your cottage after my wife and I dined.”

  “He did tell us that, but I found I didn’t care to delay our meeting. I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you, Mr. Victor, ever since Fred and his wife died, in fact.” Everett frowned. “Why is it that no one could locate you?”

  Mr. Victor shrugged. “Fred sent me to far-off places, with no set schedule. Believe me, if I’d gotten wind of Fred’s accident, we’d have returned to the States posthaste.” He narrowed his eyes on Everett. “However, I’m here now, so I suppose we might as well get on with things.”

  “We certainly do need to get on with things as you put it, especially matters concerning Fred’s estate.”

  Taking a step toward Everett, Mr. Victor’s eyes began to glitter. “Matters of Fred’s estate don’t concern you at all, Mr. Mulberry, and you should know that I’m here for one reason and one reason only.”

  “And that reason would be?” Everett asked slowly.

  “To fetch the children home, of course.”

  For a second, Everett thought he’d misheard the man, but only for a second. Stepping closer to Mr. Victor, Everett forced a smile. “I’m afraid you’re in for a bit of a disappointment, then, because the only way you’re going to do any fetching of Fred’s children is over my dead body.”

  15

  Strangely enough, when I imagined finally being given the opportunity to enjoy a lovely glass of lemonade at the Newport Casino, I never pictured myself enjoying that refreshment from the midst of a storage room,” Millie said to no one in particular before she took a sip of tepid lemonade and glanced around.

  Everett was sitting in a hardback chair, a wet rag covering his entire face, while Mr. Duncan Victor slouched down in a chair similar to the one Everett was sitting in, wiping his nose with another wet rag. Both gentlemen had one of their hands tied to those chairs, and both gentlemen had yet to speak a single word to each other, even though they’d been held in the storage room for
a good ten minutes while management waited for the authorities to arrive.

  “It’s unfortunate Lucetta and Mrs. Victor aren’t here to enjoy such delightful surroundings,” Millie continued, her words drawing a grunt from Mr. Victor.

  “My wife had the good sense to dive under the table when fists began flying,” he said. “As for Miss Plum . . . Well, the only reason she’s not here is because she batted those lovely eyes of hers at the staff, even though I told them that the plate she was holding in her hand was aimed directly at me.” He lifted his head and sent a look filled with disgust at Everett, one Everett missed since his entire face was still covered. “I’m remarkably confused as to what an actress was doing accompanying you, Mr. Mulberry. Although given that I’ve come to the conclusion you’re nothing more than a dirty scoundrel . . . I probably shouldn’t be all that confused.”

  Setting the glass of lemonade aside, Millie rose to her feet, grateful she, at least, had not been tied to a chair. “If there’s any scoundrel in this room, sir, it’s obviously you. In fact, if you ask me, the only possible explanation behind you throwing the first punch at Everett was to divest guilt from yourself.”

  “Divert,” Everett muttered through the cloth covering his face.

  “Exactly right, divert guilt is what I meant to say.” Millie took a step toward Mr. Victor, stopping immediately when a rather large member of the Newport Casino staff folded beefy arms over his chest and shook his head at her.

  “I wasn’t going to hurt him,” she told the man, earning a huff of clear disbelief from Mr. Victor in the process.

  “You broke my nose,” Mr. Victor snapped. “Which really does beg the question of why you’ve been allowed in the same room with me.” He narrowed an eye on her that was rapidly turning an interesting shade of black. “It is never permissible for a lady to punch a gentleman, not proper in the least. Although . . . given that you seem to be acquainted with Miss Plum as well, you’re obviously not a proper sort of lady.”

  “I’ve never claimed to be a proper lady, Mr. Victor. In fact, I’m just the nanny.”

  “You are a proper lady,” Everett said as he reached up and pulled the rag off his face, sporting not one but two black eyes. “And you’re not just the nanny.”

  Warmth began traveling up Millie’s neck to settle on her face, but before she could so much as get a word of appreciation out of her mouth, Mr. Victor let out another grunt.

  “Do not tell me, Mr. Mulberry, that this woman, the one who recently broke my nose, has been hired to watch Fred’s children? Surely you must realize that putting those precious scamps in the direct vicinity of a woman prone to violence is hardly in their best interest.” He mopped at his nose again. “She hit me in a manner that suggests she’s spends quite a bit of time pummeling people. That clearly proves she’s unstable—and proves you’re not fit to see to the children’s basic needs, since you hired her as a nanny in the first place.”

  “I’ve hardly spent my life pummeling people, sir,” Millie said before Everett could reply. “Well, there was this one boy at the orphanage, Freddy Franklin, but . . . I digest from the topic at hand.”

  “Digress,” Everett said right before he laughed. “I hate to point this out, Millie, but it might benefit you to go back through all the D words, since they seem to be giving you trouble today.”

  Millie’s lips twitched. “And that explains why I was so dismayed—another D word that I know means upset—about not having my sensible clothing available. My aprons come in remarkably handy for holding my dictionaries.” Additional warmth spread over her when Everett smiled.

  Hoping that his swollen eyes made it difficult for him to see that she was blushing, she turned back to Mr. Victor, who was looking a little confused. “As I was saying, sir, I would not have felt the urge to enter the brawl if you would have stopped trying to do Everett in. If it escaped your notice, he’s rather brawny and could have made mincemeat of you, but he was acting far too much the gentleman. That forced me to put an end to your nonsense before someone lost an eye or, heaven forbid, a brain, which is what I think you were intending when you lifted up that water pitcher. Quite frankly, if anyone possesses an unstable nature, it’s clearly you. You attacked Everett with no provocation, which I know means goading, or something close to that.”

  Mr. Victor stopped mopping his nose. “He told me he’d only relinquish the children over his dead body. I thought it would expedite matters nicely if I took it upon myself to arrange that for him. If he’s dead, it’ll save me the trouble of seeing him arrested. He has, if you’re not aware of this, stolen three children in what I’ve come to believe is a dastardly attempt at getting his hands on Fred’s vast estate.”

  “What are you talking about?” Everett demanded as he squinted in Mr. Victor’s direction. “I have no design on Fred’s estate—don’t even know the extent of it, by the way—and . . . even if it is as vast as you claim, all of it will be put into trust for the children.”

  “A likely story.” Mr. Victor sat forward. “If you don’t have an interest in Fred’s estate, why, pray tell, did you abscond with his children? I have Fred’s last will and testament in my jacket pocket—a will that clearly designates me as guardian of the children and executor of Fred’s estate.”

  Everett ran a hand through hair that was standing on end. “And I, Mr. Victor, have a will back in New York that’s dated a mere month and a half before Fred died, giving me custody of the children and naming me as executor.”

  Mr. Victor’s face darkened. “You’re lying. I was Fred’s attorney, and he never had me draw up a second will.”

  “An attorney by the name of Mr. Samuel Colfax drew up Fred’s last will,” Everett said. “I assure you, it was all done very properly, and done, given what I’ve been able to piece together, after you left Boston on that mission you claim Fred gave you.”

  Mr. Victor’s brows knit together. “Mr. Colfax made up a new will?”

  “Are you familiar with the man?” Millie asked.

  “We’re casual associates, and he is a well-respected attorney in the Boston area, but . . . why would Fred have done that?” Mr. Victor asked. “Besides being his attorney, I was also Fred’s business partner, and . . . I considered Fred to be one of my closest friends. That’s why he wanted me to have guardianship of his children if anything ever happened to him and Violet.”

  Millie bit her lip. “Maybe he didn’t trust you in the end, maybe he thought you were up to no good, and . . . maybe he knew you were considering . . . murder.”

  For a second, silence settled over the storage room, until Mr. Victor laughed.

  “Murder is not amusing, Mr. Victor,” she said with a sniff.

  “But a nanny with an overactive imagination certainly is.” He pressed the rag against his nose again. “I was not even in the country when Fred died, but on a yacht, halfway across the world.”

  “On Fred’s yacht,” Millie pointed out. “And forgive me, but it’s somewhat suspicious that you were conveniently on Fred’s yacht when the poor man died. And why are you only now coming to collect the children?”

  “Fred made up a list that had no less than fifty names on it of inventors he thought worthy of further investigation. Those inventors were spread throughout the world, but Fred believed their inventions, at least on paper, warranted a second look. Since Fred was in the process of working with numerous inventors here in the States, he did not have the time to travel the world—thus he asked me to do it.”

  Everett leaned forward. “Weren’t you concerned your law practice would suffer, being out of Boston so long?”

  “Fred was my only client, and . . . as I said before, we were business partners as well. I invested my own money in the most promising inventions, and shared in the profits when those inventions became lucrative.”

  Speculation sparkled in Everett’s blackened eyes. “And did many of those inventions turn lucrative?”

  Mr. Victor shrugged. “Some did, most did not, but it was
the allure of the next big invention that drew my interest, Mr. Mulberry.”

  “Allure doesn’t cover the cost of gowns from Worth, Mr. Victor,” Everett said softly.

  “Are you insinuating that I’m only here to collect the children because I want to get my hands on Fred’s estate?”

  “I don’t believe I’m insinuating anything.”

  Mr. Victor shot out of his chair and began dragging it toward Everett, who jumped to his feet and clenched his free hand into a fist. Darting between the two gentlemen before the burly staff member of the Casino could move, even knowing it wasn’t exactly a prudent move, Millie spread out her arms and stood her ground as Mr. Victor stumbled to a stop, glaring at her.

  “Get . . . out . . . of . . . my . . . way.”

  “Not likely,” Millie said. “Although I must say, you’ve now firmly convinced me you’re unfit to raise Fred’s children, given that temper of yours. That probably explains why Fred sought out another attorney and had that attorney draw up a new will.”

  Mr. Victor glared at Millie for a long second before his gaze darted around her and settled on Everett. “Tell me this, Mr. Mulberry—in addition to having Mr. Colfax draw up a new will, did Fred give him the ledgers pertaining to all of his investments?”

  “Fred’s ledgers have been nowhere to be found,” Everett admitted.

  Mr. Victor plopped right back down on the chair he’d been dragging behind him. “What do you mean? Fred had numerous ledgers, all organized by date in the office he kept at home, and . . . I had copies of those ledgers, which I found missing when I opened my office after arriving in Boston. Quite honestly, I thought you’d taken them.”

  Everett retook his seat. “Contrary to what you seem to believe about me, Mr. Victor, I’m not the type of gentleman to break into someone’s office. That’s why I mailed a letter to your law office, giving you my direction and telling you I’d taken the children.”