by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris
“That may work.” James nodded. “In the meantime, you probably ought to return to New York and see what damage has been wrought there. I will try to quell the rumors here.”
“I will give the matter much thought and prayer as well.” Alfred now knew how his father had succeeded in business all those years. Rash actions did not always produce desired results. He wanted to rush to the Wallingfords’ residence and confront them both and drag a confession from Mrs. Wallingford, but that would not work. However, a more subtle approach might. “I shall return to Tranquility and inform Mother I will be leaving sooner than I expected.”
Chapter 13
Francesca stared at James and looked up from her sketchpad. “But I have let Mother choose everything for the wedding. Since she has been in a flurry lately, placing orders and sending telegrams, I have stayed out of her way. I am tired of battling, and she has left me alone at last.”
They were sitting in the library as a summer shower pounded the windows. A fire in the fireplace helped drive some of the chill from the room.
“What did you just say? About telegrams?”
“She’s been in and out, sending messages and such.”
“Since when does Mother plan her fetes like that?”
“What do you know, James? What aren’t you telling me?” Her brother wouldn’t look at her, so she threw her drawing pencil at him.
James caught the pencil. “I have a good reason to believe Mother has been busy with more than wedding plans. Didn’t you say she’d threatened to make trouble for Alfred?”
“Yes, she did.” Francesca’s cheeks burned at the memory of the way Mrs. McGovern had painted her interaction with Alfred in the garden.
“Well, I suggest you take more of an interest in these plans. Perhaps Mother has some records of these telegrams in her desk. Or, I don’t know. Does she have her bank book here?”
“I don’t know. I know she has a ledger that she keeps the household accounts on, for the parties and such.” Mother had attempted to show her the ledger once, but Francesca was hopeless at sums.
“Perhaps she has withdrawn large amounts of cash from her account.”
Francesca thought she was going to be sick. “What could Mother have done to Alfred?”
“Just look, and see if you find anything of importance. You’ll know what it is when you see it.”
“And if I learn something, what am I supposed to do with what I know?”
“Tell me what you find, and then I shall talk to Father. Perhaps he and I can confront Mother and get the entire story from her.”
“All right. I will. Mother said something this morning about talking to a caterer. I shall ask to see her plans so far. Truthfully, I am curious.” And anything to help Alfred.
James looked at his pocket watch and stood. “I must go now. I’m due to meet with someone to see if they can help Alfred.”
“Please.” Francesca rose from her chair as well. “Let me know what happens.”
They entered the hall together, with James heading to the main entryway and Francesca heading toward Mother’s sitting room. She had her desk there and kept every record of each transaction filed.
“James, I’m scared for Alfred.”
“We must pray for him, and do what we can.” He gave her a small smile before he left.
When Francesca entered the parlor, she found Mother at her desk, right where she expected to find her. Mother looked up, papers scattered before her.
“Yes?” Mother looked wary. Francesca hadn’t approached Mother at her desk in days and, in fact, had avoided her.
“I understand you are securing a caterer, and I was wondering if I might see what your plans are.” She hugged her sketchbook to her chest. At least her hands weren’t shaking, and she thanked God for the calmness she felt.
“You weren’t interested when I first mentioned my ideas. If I remember well enough, you said marrying Count de la Croix was ‘unthinkable.’ Why care now?”
“I … it will be easier, I realize.”
“You care nothing for the count, and the wedding will be just like any other day to you. You said so yourself.”
“I …” She could not find truthful words to speak.
“Very well.” Mother pursed her lips together. “Here. I have several thank-you notes to write. You may compose them for me while I work on this.”
Mother handed her a list, and her stationery. “You may sit at my desk. I must go fetch the fabric samples that the seamstress sent over.”
Francesca’s pulse pounded in her throat. “Thank you, Mother.”
With a grand swish of skirts, Mother glided from the room, and Francesca took two gulping breaths as she sat down at Mother’s desk.
Now, James had mentioned two things. Telegrams and bank account information. If anything, Mother meticulously filed her records. Perhaps there was something about telegrams, or receipts, or …
Francesca found a stack of telegram receipts wrapped with a string. The first message made her freeze. One thousand dollars to assist me. No one can know. Mrs. Andrew Wallingford. The recipient was a Mitchell Hamm of Silver Springs, Colorado.
Mother reentered the sitting room, and Francesca stared at the pieces of fabric she carried. Her own fingers tightened around the telegram receipt she’d just read. The others lay scattered on Mother’s desk.
“I’m sorry, I should have explained better about those thank-you notes.” Mother glanced at Francesca’s hand, then at the desk. “What are you doing?”
“Why did you send one thousand dollars to this man in Colorado? I can only guess why, but I wish to hear your explanation.” Francesca held out the telegram receipt. When Mother tried to take it from her, she said, “No, I will hold it.”
“Young lady, you are in no position to demand from me. I am your mother, and I deserve honor and respect.”
“I have been trying to do those things in spite of what has happened to me. But this receipt shows me you have not been acting honorably.” Francesca moved to go. “I am going to speak to Father about this. He must know.”
“You will do nothing of the sort.”
“Mother, all of Newport will know what you have done to Alfred. I don’t know what you had this man in Colorado do for you, but even if you have done this secretly, you must know that people will discover the source of this attack against Alfred’s character.” Despite her mother’s polished appearance, Francesca could only see bitterness, which radiated from her.
“He was warned. And I will have nothing ruin our plans.”
“Mother, what are you talking about? Ever since I confessed to you my actions of that Sunday afternoon, I have done what I am supposed to do.”
“Let us say that I saw fit to ensure he didn’t think of interfering or overstepping his bounds again.” Mother looked at her evenly. “But please, tell your father what I have done.
He will support me in this decision, as always.”
Francesca left the sitting room with the evidence in her hand. She had information for James, which he would undoubtedly give to Alfred. But his temper. What would he do when he saw concrete evidence of Mother’s actions? Francesca knew there was only one thing left for her to do.
Alfred didn’t know what to do. He looked at the gentleman seated across from him in his New York office.
Octavius Millstone frowned. “Had I known of your questionable character, I would not have agreed to join the board of this foundation. While I tend to look the other way over men’s indiscretions, I cannot ignore a man taking money under false pretenses.”
“I assure you, Octavius, these allegations are simply untrue. There is no Silver Light Mine in Colorado, and I did not embezzle money from anyone and leave Colorado with it.” Alfred had already sent O’Neal to start preparing statements to refute this falsehood. He feared that this fresh rumor would consume what was left of his good name.
Bearing the memory of seeing Francesca’s fiancé with Lillian Chalmers had robbed him
of sleep. Between that and the attack on his reputation engineered by Francesca’s mother, he had ended up pummeling his pillow until dawn. No immediate answers had come.
“All the same, this is not good at all.” Octavius rose. “I’m afraid I’ll have to reconsider my agreement, or at least postpone it until this ruckus dies down. A man in my position can’t afford a hint of controversy attached to him.”
“I understand.” Alfred stood and shook his hand. “I will have proof—soon, I hope—that this story is a falsehood. And I will also reveal the party responsible for this action.”
“Smart man. Good luck to you, then.” Octavius put on his hat and left the office.
Alfred returned to his seat. Nothing more could be done until he heard from James, and until O’Neal returned with his own news.
As for the matter about the count and Lillian Chalmers, Alfred wanted to head for the count’s residence and not leave until he received an explanation. Either that or call a meeting with Mr. Wallingford. Neither would work. His head swam at the idea of Francesca’s struggle to honor her parents’ choice of a husband. The count would likely not remain faithful after marriage, when he obviously was not faithful during their engagement.
To be sure, Alfred had been tempted to elope with Francesca, but he had not given into that idea but cast it away. If only Francesca were engaged to a man whom she might one day grow to love. But a man who couldn’t remain faithful even during betrothal? Alfred did not want to see Francesca destined to such a loveless marriage.
Francesca paced her bedroom until Elizabeth answered her call. “Fetch my travel satchel, Elizabeth.”
“Miss, are you going on a trip? What is going on?”
“Do not question me, but obey. I need to pack. Now.” She would not, and could not, live another night under the same roof with the woman she called Mother. “I have some money, I believe enough to leave here with; and if not enough, I shall borrow some from a friend.”
“Yes, miss.” Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped. “I shall get it immediately.”
Francesca stopped her maid at the door. “Forgive me. I should not have been so sharp with you, when you have been a faithful servant. And even a friend. But if I do not divulge to you my plans, you shall be able to honestly say you know nothing of them later.”
“Miss, leaving will solve nothing.”
“I am tired of doing nothing.” Francesca glared at the clothing she’d spread on the bed. She had no idea how she would fit a suitable wardrobe into one meager satchel. Perhaps she was more spoiled than she’d first thought.
“What has happened?”
“My mother has happened. She made good on her promise, and now people are looking at Alfred askance yet again. He didn’t embezzle a cent.” Francesca didn’t want to believe her mother had actually spent money to get a man to lie against Alfred.
“Oh, dear.”
“Please, get my satchel without further ado. If I hurry, I can take the last train to New York. Either that, or I shall sit up in the station all night and take the first train in the morning.”
“Right away.” Elizabeth bobbed her head and disappeared.
She would wait until the latter part of the afternoon and leave through the side door. If anyone saw her walking along the road, well, she’d figure that out when the time came. She could always go without a satchel and leave as if she were heading out the door for a stroll.
If only James were here. Not hours ago, barely after she’d bid him good-bye in the hallway that afternoon, he’d been called away to bring Victoria to New York. In her current physical state, she needed a doctor’s care immediately, and they rushed from Seaside.
Francesca made herself pause for a moment. Larger problems in the world existed than her current state. What Victoria must be feeling. And here she’d been wrapped up in her own situation—unjust as it may be, she was not the only person going through a trial. She whispered a prayer for Victoria and her unborn child.
Perhaps she might meet James and Victoria in New York, and help care for Victoria at the family’s residence until she could leave. Francesca went to find her shoes and realized she could likely only bring a spare pair. What was it that Alfred had said about knowing contentment? Being free with only two pairs of shoes would be better than life as she knew it with a dozen pairs.
A rattling of the door handle made her look up. “Elizabeth?”
“No. It is Mrs. McGovern.” The woman’s voice came through the door, but she did not open it and enter.
The sound of tumblers turning in a lock made Francesca leap to her feet and cross the room. She tried the door. Locked. “What are you doing?”
“Mrs. Wallingford’s orders, miss.”
“Please ask my mother to come here straightaway.” Her voice squeaked, and her hands shook as she tried the door again. She would not lose her composure in front of this woman.
“Of course, miss.”
“Where is Elizabeth?” Francesca clutched the doorknob.
“She is being dealt with.”
Retreating footsteps on the marble hallway told her the conversation was over.
Locked in her room. Someone had seen Elizabeth with a satchel, probably Mrs. McGovern, or even worse, Mother. And of course, Elizabeth would have to tell them why she was carrying the bag.
Francesca sank onto the floor. Surely, this was a product of her imagination, and if she rose to her feet and tried the door, it would open. She reached for the knob again and pulled. The lock held.
She stood and paced the room. If she had a key to the room, she didn’t know where it was.
“Francesca?” came Mother’s voice.
“Mother, please tell me what is going on.”
“I will not have you leave this house and disgrace our family. I have no idea what you have planned, but the fact you sent for your satchel says enough.”
She would not scream, or plead, or cry. “Mother …” And neither would she lie and say she had not decided to leave.
“My mind will not change. I will not bend to this. Your father arrives tonight, and we shall address the matter further.”
“Very well, then.” Francesca set her jaw. She would speak to Father. Surely he would set everything right.
Mother left her, and Francesca went to her bed. Her prayers had done nothing. Her furnace still burned, and she would not be rescued like the men in the furnace.
“I want to trust You, heavenly Father.” Francesca looked at the white paneled ceiling that might as well have covered a jail cell. “But everything seems to be getting worse.”
Francesca looked at her bed, then looked at the doors that led to her small balcony. What if she were to tie the sheets together and lower herself to the roof of the first floor veranda, and then—
No, if she tried to dangle from the veranda roof and let herself to the ground, she’d break a bone or worse. And then where would she be?
Francesca went out to her balcony and gauged the distance. Yes, too far. She gazed out at a world that should have been open to her with possibilities, but a locked door and the shackles of her engagement made her look at it from a distance.
Chapter 14
Alfred looked out the window as the train traveled from New York to Newport. After the week’s efforts, he looked forward to seeing Mother again and gaining a measure of peace from being by the ocean. He opened the latest telegram from Reverend Stone. True to his word, O’Neal had wired funds to the minister to assist the man in helping vouch for Alfred’s innocence—on paper.
Attorney preparing papers. No such mine. No such dealings. Mitchell Hamm is wrong. Praying. He knew vindication was within his grasp, and the thought filled him with relief. He already knew he could do nothing about the rumors except present the evidence to those interested in his foundation and leave the rest to God.
Perhaps he’d have to wait for a time until he could launch the Finley Humanitarian Foundation, but the foundation would make a difference in young people’s l
ives. If not right away, eventually. Patience and self-control were not easy lessons to learn, but he hoped Father would have been proud of him, had he known.
When the train trudged to a stop in Newport, Alfred saw Mother waiting for him on the platform. The heat had bothered her lately, and he wondered why she ventured out instead of sending the carriage to bring him to Tranquility.
“There you are,” Mother said as he reached her. “I’m glad you have returned.”
“This week, I have lived a nightmare.”
“I know, I know. Which is why I decided to meet you at the station. We have much to discuss which cannot wait.”
He held his leather satchel in one hand and offered Mother his free arm. “I know you have not been feeling well. You could have waited.”
“I know, I know. But I am your mother, and I needed to do something.”
Minutes later, he had Mother comfortably situated in the carriage. “Do tell, Mother. What have you been up to?”
“Planning a dinner party for tomorrow night. Short notice, I know.”
“I am not in the mood to entertain.” He nodded at an acquaintance passing by in another carriage.
“This is exactly why we should entertain. I have taken the liberty, in your name, of inviting Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Wallingford, Mr. and Mrs. James Wallingford, Miss Francesca Wallingford, plus Mrs. Chalmers and her daughter Lillian for supper.” Her eyes gleamed.
“I understand the count has arrived from New York also, and as he is the betrothed of Miss Wallingford, we shall include him as well.”
“Why would any of them dine with me, besides James and Francesca?”
“Exclusivity. Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt will be present at supper, and the idea of a small affair including them likely proved irresistible to Mrs. Wallingford and Mrs. Chalmers.”
“Just supper?”
“And a healthy helping of the truth.” Mother patted his hand.
