"For pity's sake, Georgina..." Peter glanced at her stubbornly set chin and modified his tone. "I'm sorry. I just had a horrible row with my father, and you know how that affects me. Are you sure you weren't hurt? You look as if you've been wallowing in the mud and got run over by a carriage."
"Thanks." Sadly enough, it wasn't even anger washing through her at this insult, although her tone hinted at sarcasm. She had known Peter since they were children. Not really known, perhaps. They never had the same interests. Boys and girls seldom did. But the town wasn't so large that they hadn't known each other since time immemorial. That made it easier to treat each other like brother and sister. And that was how he was treating her: like his nuisance of a little sister.
Remembering how Daniel's eyes lit like lanterns when she entered a room, how he touched her arm every chance he got, how he had followed her to make certain she was all right even when she had ordered him not to, Georgina sighed. Why couldn't Peter just be a bit more like Mr. Martin? She was quite certain she could fall in love with him if he would.
Peter sent her a bewildered glance. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Why am I always saying the wrong things to you? I don't even know what it is I'm saying wrong. I'm glad you don't have another pitcher of lemonade handy."
"It's not what you say. It's that you don't listen. I was trying to tell you something, and you didn't hear a word I said."
"I just got finished hearing more words than I wanted to hear from my father. I don't need more lectures. You need to learn to judge a man's moods." Peter whipped the carriage horses into a trot.
"It goes both ways, Peter Mulloney. You're not God. I have moods, too. And my mood is anything but pleasant at the moment." This wasn't the attitude she had meant to take, but he had her temper riled. He seemed to do that entirely too often these days. Everything seemed to do that too often. She felt as if she were living on a powder keg about to explode. Maybe she ought to help her mother choose a wedding gown and call this whole newspaper bit off.
"Good, that makes us even. So why don't we both go home and cool off and try this again another day?"
"Fine, but unless you rehire that unfortunate girl you fired today, I'm not likely to cool off anytime soon. I'm the one who told Mr. Martin all about Mulloney's, not that poor clerk. You owe her an apology."
"You what!" Peter screamed so loud that the horses jerked in their traces, disrupting traffic all around them.
"He's a very nice man I met on the train coming home. You can just ask him."
"And you took those photographs for him, making us look like a slave factory?" His voice was ominously quiet now.
"You'll need to ask Mr. Martin about that," Georgina answered smoothly. Daniel deserved a share of this abuse. If he'd just left her alone, she could have been home and cleaned up without involving Peter. Let him make up some of these answers.
"Damn him! He took advantage of you, didn't he? You chattered and he switched all the words around and made us look like fools. And then he probably admired your new hobby and somehow talked you into giving up some of your silly pictures. I'll break every bone in his body. Does your father know you've been seeing this scoundrel? Don't you ever go out with a chaperone?"
"They're good photographs," Georgina murmured as she crossed her arms and stuck out her bottom lip. "And nobody has chaperones anymore."
Peter ignored her. Pulling the horses up the carriage drive in front of the house, he jumped down to let her out. "Where can I find this scoundrel? I've got a thing or two I intend to tell him."
Georgina jerked her hand away as he tried to help her out. Clinging to the carriage, she let herself down. "I'm not telling you anything else unless you promise to hire that girl back. I may not ever speak to you again unless you hire that girl."
Peter glared. "Good. The silence will be a blessing."
"I hate you, Peter Mulloney." Grabbing up her skirt, Georgina fled into the house, leaving Peter to do as he wished. She wasn't about to give up yet. He would rue the day he called her photographs silly and refused to listen to a simple request.
She ran up the stairs and slammed into her bedroom. She jerked on the bellpull until the clamor could be heard throughout the house. Her father wouldn't be home yet. She would clean up and plead her case with him. He might be stubborn upon occasion, but he always gave her anything reasonable she wanted. He would see that Audrey got her job back. He would understand.
Her mother had retreated into oblivion several days before, so Georgina was alone in the parlor when her father arrived. She had gowned herself carefully in his favorite blue and jumped up to greet him with a smile. He frowned and threw the newssheet onto the nearest table.
"I don't know what this world's coming to. Next they'll be telling us who we have to hire and how much we have to pay. It's radicals like that who will be the ruin of this country. Pour me a sip of brandy, Georgie. It's been a long day."
That didn't sound in the least promising, but Georgina hurried to obey.
"I need to talk to you, Papa," she said as she handed him the snifter.
"Of course, sweetheart. Have you seen Peter today? I need to talk with the boy. Something has to be done about these radicals before they attack more businesses."
He wasn't listening. None of them ever listened. Firmly, Georgina attempted to steer him back to the subject. "Peter fired another innocent clerk today, Papa. He blamed her for something that I did. I wish you would talk with him. I'll apologize or do whatever it takes, but he has to hire that girl back. She needs the job."
"That doesn't make any sense, Georgina," he responded absently. "What could you possibly have to do with a clerk? Is dinner almost ready? I have to go out again shortly."
"I'll tell Nancy to start serving immediately. Will you be seeing Peter tonight?" She had to reach him. The lives of that little family depended on her making these men understand. She was feeling a little desperate already.
Her father led her into the dining room. "Did you and Peter have a little dispute? That happens all the time, sweetheart. Don't worry your pretty head about it. I'll tell him you apologize and warn him to bring a big bouquet of flowers tomorrow."
If it would serve her purpose, she would stamp her foot and throw a tantrum right here and now, but Georgina doubted that it would get her anything more than a suggestion that she was doing too much and needed rest. That's what he always told her mother, and her mother seemed to take him literally.
Holding her smile in place, Georgina tried again. "I want you to talk to Peter about hiring that clerk back. If he doesn't, the marriage is off, Papa. I can't marry a man who won't listen."
That finally got his attention. George Hanover groomed his graying side-whiskers with his fingers as he waited for the maid to warn the cook it was time to start serving. "Don't be foolish, Georgina. Of course you'll marry Peter. He's a little young, that's all. Boys that age don't like to listen to anyone but themselves. I'll tell him to come by and you two can kiss and make up."
"He's twenty-five years old, Papa!" she protested, but she could see she was getting nowhere. Ignoring her, George started a diatribe on the subject that was irritating him the most, Daniel's newspaper.
Apparently there hadn't been time for Peter to warn her father Georgina's photographs were in the kiosk downtown. There wouldn't be any reasoning with him once he found that out. Maybe she could talk to Doris at the factory and see if a position could be found for Audrey there.
She wasn't giving up. Peter would have to listen. She would sit on his desk and refuse to move until he rehired Audrey.
She liked that idea. Wasn't there something by Thoreau about passive protest? Maybe she could chain herself to the door or something so Peter couldn't even carry her off. That would grab his attention.
So she smiled and made a pretense of listening and waved her father on his way after dinner, then went to her room to make her plans.
What she didn't count on was the total irrationality of men, even on
e like her father who had always treated her as if she were made of precious porcelain.
Georgina had already gone to bed by the time her father came home. When he pounded on her door, she rose and quickly pulled on a robe, fearful of what she might find. Her father never came to her room in the dark of night. Something had to be wrong. Perhaps her mother was ill.
But it was her father who looked sick. In the dim light of the hall lamp, his face was a ghastly gray, and his voice wasn't that of the genial man she had known all her life. It held a hint of desperation and anger that she didn't like at all.
"Georgina Meredith, why didn't you tell me that newspaper fellow was making a nuisance of himself? I had to hear Peter tell me that he's tricked you into giving him that incendiary information and those photographs. I couldn't believe my ears! What are you doing near the likes of a man like that? Do you have any idea what you can do to your reputation with such foolishness? If word gets out, we'll be ruined in this town. Ruined! We'll have to put a halt to this immediately."
Georgina rubbed at her eyes and tried to put this tirade into perspective, but sleep clouded her brain. "You've met Mr. Martin, Papa. He has an invitation to dinner at the mayor's Friday. He's a perfectly respectable gentleman. Just because you don't agree with his opinions doesn't mean he's not nice."
"He's trying to ruin the family you're marrying into! Don't tell me that's the work of an honest man. We've decided you've run loose too long, Georgina. I have my hands full at the factory these days, and your mother isn't well. We don't have the time to look after you as we should. We've decided to move up the wedding date. Then you will be Peter's responsibility."
Georgina stared at him in horror. "I will not! I am my own responsibility. In any case, I'm not marrying Peter unless he gives that girl her job back. I can't marry a man who won't listen to reason."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about, Georgina. You are getting entirely out of hand. What Peter does with his employees is his business and not yours. It's your business to look after the house and servants and keep things running smoothly for your husband. You'll have children to look after if you need more to keep you occupied. You'll marry Peter, child, if you know what's good for you."
This was her father talking to her. Georgina couldn't believe he meant it. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she adamantly refused to give in on this topic. "I know what's good for me, and it isn't a man who won't listen to reason. I'll not marry him, Papa."
Her father looked older and grayer than she had ever seen him as he shook his head and started down the hall. "You will, Georgina. I can't afford for you to do otherwise. If you don't, I will have to put you somewhere where you can't hurt anyone else or until you return to your senses."
He entered his chamber and quietly closed the door, leaving Georgina to stare after him with a sense of impending doom. The words had been deceptively calm, but she knew what they meant. She had only been three or four when her mother had gone away and not come back for what had seemed forever. She'd heard the servants whisper about it for years, shaking their heads and looking frightened whenever her mother took to her room. It had taken years for her to find out just exactly where her mother had been all those months, the place her father still occasionally threatened her mother with when he didn't think anyone was listening.
She had no desire at all to be sent off to the Shady Rest Retiring Home for Convalescents.
* * *
"Father, you have yourself upset over nothing," Peter Mulloney argued. "He's just a mud-slinging journalist who will be out of business in a few weeks. People around here are too sensible to listen to his radical preachings."
It was nearly midnight, but the man in the black suit behind the desk had not removed one article of his formal attire and there was not a crease out of place. He puffed furiously on a cigar as he regarded his eldest son, then swept the room with his gaze to make certain the younger boys were listening.
"There are elements in any town that will use any excuse to cause trouble. You heard about the riots in New Jersey. You've seen the trouble the Grange has caused out West. We're going to nip this thing in the bud before he has a chance to cause more harm than he has. All I want you to do is take care of that spoiled brat of yours. I don't want any outcry from her when we do what we have to do."
Peter shifted uneasily in his chair. As the eldest, he had the responsibility to stand up to his father when he was wrong. John and Paul still lived in fear of the old man. Georgina had been wrong to do what she had, but she was young and naive and her mother never had brought her up properly. She would straighten out once she was married. But Peter had a sneaking suspicion that marriage wouldn't come happily if Georgina knew his father was responsible for harming her newspaper friend in any way. He had to persuade the old man to keep things quiet.
"Leave the man alone, Father. The people his article is aimed at can't read. Even if they could, they don't have enough ambition or organization to do anything about it. Those clerks need their jobs and won't jeopardize them. I'll take care of Georgie. But you'll tie my hands if you do anything to that newspaperman. Georgie's very adamant about protecting her friends. She's quite capable of not going through with the wedding if she thinks we had anything to do with harming any friend of hers."
That thought made Peter nervous. She had been rattling on about some clerk in the store he had fired earlier. It might be wise to find out the details. He had known all his life that Georgie would be his wife. Marriage was his ticket to freedom. He didn't want her throwing his ring back at him at this late date.
As if seeing the wheels go around in his son's head, the old man behind the desk chuckled ominously. "You'd better get a tight rein on that one pretty quick, son, before she has you jumping hoops like a trained dog. Just explain to her that her father's business goes down the sewer if she doesn't marry you. That will bring her around."
"Father, that's ridiculous. You can't really pull the rug from under Hanover. He's been your friend for years. He'll come out all right soon enough. He knows the business. I expect to learn a great deal from him before I take over."
The silver-haired man leaned back in his chair and blew smoke rings at the ceiling. "One of these days, boy, you'll learn that money's the only thing that gives you power. Hanover would shoot you in the back in an instant if he could. It's only that loan we hold that keeps him to his promises. Money is power, boys. Keep that in mind."
Artemis Mulloney rose and walked to the door, still tall and straight despite his years. He stopped only to turn with one more reminder, "Get that gal in line, boy, and do it soon. Elope. That's the best thing for her. Bed her and wed her, in that order. She'll come around when she knows who's boss."
Twenty-year-old John giggled as soon as the door closed. "That's one order I wouldn't have any trouble handling. Need any help with the little lady, Pete? I could entertain her when you're otherwise occupied."
"Shut up, John." Peter didn't even bother looking in his youngest brother's direction. There was something distinctly irritating about John's presence tonight. The kid looked more like their mother than their father. He had a woman's weak build and a lanky adolescent gracelessness that he hadn't outgrown. And his sense of humor was definitely misplaced.
Peter would be just as happy trouncing John as the newspaperman.
Why did the image of that stranger at the office this afternoon keep coming back when he thought of John? Obviously, he had too much on his mind.
It was time he paid the journalist a visit.
* * *
Daniel sat on a crate he'd brought to the roof and leaned back against an old chimney. He would have to find the fireplace that went with the chimney if he meant to stay here this winter, but winter was a long way off on a hot day in June. He threw off his shirt and picked up the notebook he used to keep a record of his ideas. He should be out investigating the mill to prepare the next bombshell he had in mind, but intuition told him it wouldn't suit his purposes to leave the
premises for too long so soon after the first attack.
Intuition served him well. He heard the sound of the carriage carrying up from the street well before it arrived. It cost a lot of money in horseflesh to get that expensive clip-clop sound followed by silence instead of the unrelenting squeak of a farm wagon. Daniel had already seen Hanover arrive at the factory earlier this morning. This was a different visitor.
He couldn't help a leap in heartbeat at the possibility that Georgina might have decided to arrive in style, but he remained where he was, gazing upon the street below with full knowledge that no one could see him up here. He grimaced as he recognized the driver if not the carriage. He should have known Peter Mulloney would drive a sporty little two-seater chaise.
Daniel made no attempt to go down and meet his guest. He wasn't quite prepared to introduce himself to the brother he had never known and whom he was coming to despise as much as he had resented him earlier. Peter Mulloney was obviously the perfect son his family had wanted. Strong, handsome, he walked with an unblemished stride that Daniel could never hope to match. He probably didn't even need glasses. Daniel adjusted his own and went back to studying his notes. The dinner invitation in his pocket was ample excuse to wait for a meeting.
The deep base howl of a huge dog as his prey came close enough to strike made Daniel look up again, this time with a faint smile. Obviously, Peter had ignored the warning posted on the door. The dog had been an expensive investment, but a great burglar deterrent as well as good company.
Daniel couldn't quite hear the curses he was certain emanated from the office several floors below, but he had a good imagination. The dog was barking in frustration now. Peter must have liberated himself. Daniel counted, knowing to the last digit the number of stairs between the office and the street.
...three, two, one. Daniel glanced over the parapet to see his brother dashing out the door as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. Perhaps not quite that bad. To give him credit, Peter looked more furious than scared. His fists were clenched as he glanced up at the building as if he knew Daniel was there. Then he set the chaise off at a lethal rate of speed.
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