by Karen Hall
“But you said you weren’t trying to curry favor with the veterans,” she said, disappointment threatening to replace the warmer feelings that had gathered around her heart.
“Why, Mrs. Goforth. I had no idea you were so cynical,” he scolded. “While it’s a good idea to try to listen to one’s campaign manager, I assure you my reasons were entirely personal.”
A muscle twitched in his face and his lips tightened. “I lost a maternal uncle in the Crimea over forty years ago, Mrs. Goforth. I was named for him. He taught me how to ride and fence and unraveled the mysteries of Latin for me. He was much loved by all of us, especially me. Since I was a boy, I have had an affinity for soldiers. I still remember when word came to our home of Uncle Daniel’s death. I thought my mother would have a nervous collapse.”
Guilt flooded Tabitha’s conscience and tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course not,” he said simply. “How could you?”
To her horror, his gentle tone prompted more tears to spill down her face and she fumbled in her pockets for a handkerchief. He quickly supplied her with one of his own, his hand grazing hers. His eyes searched her face and Tabitha’s heart took off like a New Year’s Eve rocket. She made quick use of the large embroidered cloth and gave it back but he kept her hand in his. “You mentioned several reasons for coming,” she managed to say. “What are the others?”
“The lesson I learned from my Old Testament namesake.”
The heat searing through his glove only added to her confusion. “I-I fear you have me at a disadvantage,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice. “Which Old Testament namesake would that be?”
“First political cynicism and now lack of knowledge of the Old Testament?” His voice took on a bantering lilt. “And you call yourself a newspaper editor?”
She actually dared to roll her eyes. “Just tell me, please.”
“The prophet Micah,” he said. “Chapter Eight, verse six. ‘Do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with your God.’ So my mother charged me shortly before she died, and so I have tried to do.”
“And of course, you have lived up to your other namesake’s example as well,” Tabitha praised. “That one I am sure I know.”
His smile would have buckled her knees had he not still been holding her hand. “What namesake is that, Mrs. Goforth?”
“You went into a sort of legal lion’s den when you agreed to help the Eustaces,” she said. “I think the first Daniel would have been pleased.”
“I’m not sure of the accuracy of the Biblical hyperbole, but I appreciate the sentiment,” he said. “Thank you. Would you care to hear the final reason for my coming?”
“If you want to tell me,” she whispered. Her voice seemed to have failed her.
“You reminded me that my late wife Letty would have wanted justice for Bouncer. You actually had me from the moment you so passionately advocated for him. I’m glad we found something we could agree on, Mrs. Goforth. It’s a bit of a conundrum for two people with such different views to find agreement on something, but it’s nice none the less.”
“A Christmas conundrum,” Tabitha said softly, a long-buried feeling circling her heart. “Talk about hyperbole.”
“We’re ready,” called Mr. Eustace from down the hall. “Sorry it took so long!”
“I’m not,” Mr. Hollingsworth whispered. “Thank you again, Mrs. Goforth.”
And tucking her hand inside the crook of his arm, he led her down the hall, while realization hit Tabitha with the force of a blow.
She was falling in love with Daniel Micah Hollingsworth. A Christmas conundrum indeed.
Chapter Nine
THREE DAYS LATER.
“I think Louisa has invited half of London’s political and business community to her home tonight.” Nigel rubbed his hands in anticipation. “This could be your chance to put Thomas McCracken far behind in the polls.”
“Christmas is next week,” Daniel said absently staring out the hansom window. Beneath the streetlamps’ glow, a light snow began a swirling dance. “After tonight, Nigel, no more meetings or speeches. Charlie will be home any day and I’m going to spend all my spare time with him.”
“Of course,” Nigel agreed. “Having him home will only help future voters see you as a stable, steady family man. I thought at first that getting involved with the Eustace case was political suicide. You certainly have the soldiers’ and the animal lovers’ vote, but what you really need are endorsements and support from the captains of industry and men at the power base.”
“Speaking of those men, did you see Phillip Caulfield’s final story in his series about those East End slums in The Times?” Daniel turned his attention back to his friend. “That should knock any attention about my campaign from the news for a few days.”
The story, scathing in its indictment of the wretched living conditions of what passed for housing and its equally wretched occupants, had appeared in half of London’s papers. Caulfield’s caustic prose spared no one in condemning the owners for deliberately ignoring the needs of the renters.
And he had named names. Daniel had recognized a few of them as prominent business leaders as well as a Harley Street physician and a minister of a large church. Caulfield had promised to do his best to have them charged with carelessness and wanton indifference to the basic wants of humanity.
“There’s going to be fallout because of this,” Nigel predicted grimly. “Those men are already threatening to sue once they learn Caulfield’s identity. People are angry and getting people stirred up at Christmas is in very bad taste and even worse timing.”
“He sounded like Dickens,” Daniel said absently. “Caulfield, that is.”
Nigel peered at him through the dim light filtering through the hansom’s windows. “Are you quite all right, Daniel? You don’t sound like yourself.”
“I’m just tired.” Daniel sighed. “I’ve not slept well for the past few nights. I’ve a lot to think about.”
Nigel smiled knowingly. “I understand,” he said. “After the past three days with all those events Louisa helped arrange for you, I daresay you do have a great deal to think about. Announcing a Christmas engagement will certainly appeal to women who will influence their husbands.” He paused before adding, “Louisa is a remarkable woman, Daniel. She could help you in more ways than one. As I reminded you before, voters prefer a married candidate.”
Daniel had to admit it made sense. Louisa had experience as a political hostess, knew a good portion of political London and never caused trouble with her ideas or opinions. They were nearly the same age and shared many interests. Marriage to her would be a definite asset.
And she was very beautiful.
So why was he hesitating? The perfect political wife was in reach, and she was in
no way even remotely like Tabitha Goforth. Tabitha Goforth was trouble with a capital T. She went places where many male reporters wouldn’t even go for a story, interviewed questionable people, and had spent time in jail for her beliefs without a shred of remorse or apology. She was ‘that woman’, an appellation that should have any politician with a grain of sense keeping as far away from her as he could. Marriage to her would be a life-long conundrum.
And because Tabitha Goforth was haunting his dreams with great regularity. Dreams so erotic in nature they pulled him out of sleep, gasping and sweating and forcing him to spend hours fencing and boxing in the gymnasium just to get her out of his head. Hours better spent on his cases or planning his campaign.
The hansom pulled to a stop in front of Louisa’s Mayfair mansion. Lights blazed from every window, turning the house into a giant, beckoning beacon. Ribbons wound around the pillars and giant twin wreaths graced the double doors. Louisa had managed everything perfectly, just like she would when they were married.
Married. It seemed inevitable.
“Ready to face your supporters?” Nigel reached for his hat.
“
I won’t have those men backing me,” Daniel said abruptly.
“Who the devil are you talking about?”
“The ones Caulfield named,” Daniel said. “Some of them have spoken to me about offering their support. I won’t have men who hide their sins while pretending to be decent, upright citizens associated with my campaign. No argument, Nigel. I don’t care who or how powerful they are.”
He climbed out the hansom, barely waiting for Nigel to follow before paying the driver and making his way to the front steps. Inside, the atmosphere was bright and festive. Everywhere the eye could see reflected the upcoming Christmas holiday. From the minstrel’s gallery, a string quartet played carols and Daniel found himself soon to be the center of attention. He thought he recognized at least half a dozen reporters milling about as well as a few he didn’t know, but whose pads and posed pencils identified them as such. He stopped to answer one or two questions from those he knew. Louisa was certainly pulling out all the stops on his behalf.
Yes. She was the perfect politician’s wife. He really should ask Louisa to marry him.
“Good evening, Mr. Hollingsworth.”
Tabitha Goforth stood beside him, magnificently arrayed in a gown of dark plum, her hair swept high on her head. Pearls graced her neck and ears, and a simple bracelet circled her arm. The gown’s simple but elegant lines did her shape full justice while making some of the other women appear overdressed. Sighing inwardly, Daniel bowed. “Good evening, Mrs. Goforth.”
“A lovely evening,” she said, smiling at him. “I think half the London press corps is here tonight, which must be why Mrs. Keller invited me. Are we to expect more announcements? I don’t think I have pencil and pad of paper on me.”
He pretended to study her gown closely, allowing him the pleasure of simply looking at her. “If you do,” he said, “they’re well hidden.”
Her laugh, loud and happy, turned more than one head, and over hers, Daniel saw more than one guest frown. Mrs. Goforth obviously didn’t care so much for the opinions of others that she hid her enjoyment of things.
“That’s very good, Mr. Hollingsworth,” she gasped. “I’ll have to remember that.” Still chuckling, she looked across the room to where Louisa was chatting with a Cabinet member. “Mrs. Keller is a very skilled hostess,” she commented. “A man could do well with such a woman by his side.”
“Are you in the matchmaking business as well as journalism?”
Something glittered in her eyes and it was her turn to carefully appraise him. “No,” she said at last. “Just an observation. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“Are not any of your colleagues from The Clarion with you tonight?” For some reason Daniel felt he needed to keep her by his side, if only for a little time.
“I expect Caleb Hawkins and Martin Honeywell at any minute,” she said.
“Two of your best reporters,” he affirmed with a nod. “I’ve read their stories.”
“And the ones, as Mrs. Keller reminded you, who help run the paper when I’m in jail.”
He heard the biting edge in her voice, and he quickly said, “I’m sure Louisa didn’t mean anything critical by that, Mrs. Goforth.”
“Didn’t she? Then my reporter’s observations are obviously failing. I think Mrs. Keller is about to make an announcement of some kind. You best go join her.”
She drifted away before he could respond just as he saw Louisa gesture at him. More and more people were entering the room and resignedly, Daniel made this way through them to join Louisa. Beautiful, accomplished, influential Louisa.
He really was a fool to not want this woman in his life. He’d been alone too long for him not to recognize it. He would wait until after Charlie came home and then he would—
“My friends,” Louisa was saying as he joined her. “Thank you for making and taking time during your busy holiday schedule to come out tonight for this little gathering that will act as the beginnings of a campaign for the most qualified candidate from his district, Mr. Daniel Micah Hollingsworth.”
Applause began and Daniel bowed. When the clapping died away, he said, “Thank you, everyone. I appreciate you being here tonight and for your support, especially from the press. It never hurts to have them on your side.”
The guests laughed, but then a loud voice called out, “Would you mind taking one question from the press now, sir?”
“If I must,” Daniel joked. “Is it about the kind of Christmas tree I have in my home?”
“No, sir. Not exactly.” A fair-haired man who looked vaguely familiar eased his way to the center of the room. “Do you really think that a man of your reputation should be giving an interview to or spending time with the likes of Phillip Caulfield?”
An angry murmur spread through the assembly. No doubt they’d read the story in The Times. Daniel frowned. “What are you talking about? I’ve never spoken to Phillip Caulfield in my life.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but you have. And he’s standing right over there. Or perhaps I should say, she. She’s wearing that purple gown and pearls. Hello, Mrs. Goforth. Nice to see you again.”
Gasps replaced the murmurs and the crowd stepped back to show an ashen-faced Tabitha Goforth, clutching the fan at her wrist but staring defiantly at the man.
“Good evening, Mr. Edgeworth,” she said. “I suppose this is your idea of revenge?”
Her eyes found Daniel’s and in them he saw the truth. “Mrs. Goforth?” he rasped.
“Yes,” she said simply. “I’m Phillip Caulfield. If I’d written those stories under my own name, no one would have believed them, much less published them in other papers but my own. I’m Phillip Caulfield.”
The anger in the room swelled and some voices called out vile accusations, but before Daniel could respond, a man pushed his way through the crowd, his face grim. Was he one of the landlords Mrs. Goforth had named this morning?
But her eyes narrowed in concerned recognition at the new guest. “Caleb? What on earth has happened? Where’s Martin?”
Caleb Hawkins, one of her reporters at The Clarion. The man’s evening clothes were disheveled as though he had come away in great haste. Daniel stepped forward, but Louisa’s gentle but firm hand on his arm stopped him.
“Mrs. Goforth,” he gasped. “Tabitha. You must come at once.”
Fear widened her eyes. “Has something happened at the paper?”
“No. Elizabeth has been arrested. The detectives have taken her away.”
“Arrested?” It was Mrs. Goforth’s turn to gasp. “On what charges?”
“Fraud.”
Chapter Ten
“ELIZABETH, HOW COULD you? How could you place criminals in the homes of the wealthy?” Tabitha stared at her daughter through the bars of the jail cell. The stench of unwashed bodies in the other cells was overwhelming, and Tabitha had to cover her mouth. “Did you know they’d been in prison or jail?”
“Because they needed the jobs, Mother,” Elizabeth said softly. “They did come with excellent references from other families they’d worked for. Those families must have known about their pasts and hired them anyway. So I saw no harm in it.”
“No harm,” Tabitha repeated. “Liz, my dear, you’ve landed yourself in a right pickle this time. I understand your zeal for wanting to help others, but fraud is another thing altogether.”
“I’m not ashamed of what I did,” Elizabeth said with a touch of her old defiance. “And if those families think about it, they’ll have to admit they’ve never had such good staff or help. Can you speak to our solicitor about finding a barrister? I think I’m going to need one.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Tabitha sighed. “I just hope we can get you out by Christmas.”
She reached through the bars to squeeze her daughter’s hand and then left, gathering her cloak about her against the cold. The desk sergeant nodded as she passed by his desk. If she’d not spent time in this jail, he’d probably have refused to let her see Elizabeth. That was a mercy
at least.
After signaling a cab and climbing in, she sank against the cushions and covered her face with her hands. Where in all of London was she going to find a barrister to take this case? Elizabeth wouldn’t lie or deny what she had done. Simper Veritas were words her daughter lived by.
And any help Tabitha might ask from Daniel Hollingsworth was long gone. Tears pricked her eyes and she shook them away. Foolish fancies, that’s all her constant thoughts of him had been of late. Louisa Keller had him firmly in her camp with an army of supporters at her beck and call. She was just as much a “kingmaker” as Nigel Davenport.
But recalling Robert Edgeworth’s smug expression last night as he revealed her alter ego, Tabitha’s anger returned. She didn’t know how the little weasel learned she was Phillip Caulfield, but as soon as she settled Elizabeth’s situation, she’d use every resource at her disposal to find out.
And then London would see what Tabitha Goforth was really made of.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON. Inns of Court
I told you ‘that woman’ was trouble,” Nigel said grimly. “I only hope that people don’t hold any association you had with her against you next year. She hasn’t approached you about defending her daughter has she?”
“No,” Daniel said. “But she sent me a note.”
Nigel’s eyes widened. “Good Lord, Daniel. Your popularity is neck and neck with McCracken. If you come to the support of Elizabeth Goforth, everything you’ve worked for could be gone in the blink of an eye. It’s one thing to help with dogs and veterans, but this is far more serious. Think of your daughters. Do you want to ruin their and their husbands’ reputations? And even if you don’t win the election, any association with the Goforths could undo your being considered for Queen’s Counsel. Is that what you want?”
“Mrs. Goforth’s note was one of apology for any trouble, past or present, she might have caused my campaign.” Daniel sank back against the high back of his desk chair. “I think you’ve judged her very harshly, Nigel. Besides, I’ve already been approached by the solicitors of half the families with servants placed by the Goforth agency in my office today. They want to bundle their case so to speak. We’re going to arrange for a hearing tomorrow.”
