Chapter Nine
Parading Mrs. Reeve about town was easier in planning than doing. Actually, even the planning was difficult.
Esme found she disliked the hint of smugness with which the old lady regarded the table. It clearly gratified her to find Jed needing her. Esme knew she shouldn’t begrudge her. Hadn’t she heard from elderly friends how useless one could be made to feel?
“You’d best take her to the Tea Shoppe,” Maud advised.
Esme sighed. “Wonderful.” The day just got worse and worse.
The Tea Shoppe occupied the top floor of the Dragon Coffee and Tea Merchants’ warehouse. Unlike the practical activities of the lower floors, the top floor had large glass windows overlooking the Indian Ocean so ladies could take tea while observing the comings and goings of the port. Moving stairs conveyed them to this eyrie and once there a genuine Frenchman, Monsieur Pierrot, directed proceedings with balletic grace. Waitresses wove among potted palms and round tables, taking orders and retrieving trays from the dumb waiters set in the walls. Music was provided by a phonograph and complicated speaker system—not that anyone listened to the music. The buzz of the Tea Shoppe was gossip. The women who frequented it were the self-styled elite of the colony: wives, daughters and sisters of high officials, doctors, clergymen and gentlemen farmers.
“What’s wrong with this Tea Shoppe?” Mrs. Reeve demanded.
“Snobs.” Uncle Henry finished his breakfast and leaned back in his chair. “You’ll be walking into the lions’ den.”
“I’m going to find this gypsy woman and demand just what sort of game she’s playing.” Aaron pushed back from the table.
“No, you’re not,” Esme said definitely.
“She’s right, Mr. Smith.” Maud backed her up. “Grandmothers and fiancées might be biased to believe a man, but everyone knows how careful you are of Esme. If you’re seen with Mr. Reeve, that’ll squash a lot of the gossip. If you’re seen with that gypsy—” She broke off to shudder graphically.
“Damn.” He glanced at Mrs. Reeve. “Pardon the language. I hate that Tea Shoppe. Bunch of old tabbies.”
“You’ll need a starched collar and your grey tweed suit,” Maud directed. “I’ll check your dress shoes are polished. You’ll want to be there before eleven o’clock and let everyone get a good look at you.”
“Not this morning,” Esme said urgently. “I have an appointment this morning with Mr. Loonar for final approval of the Institute. I’m to meet him at the old newspaper building at eleven.”
“What’s this institute?” Mrs. Reeve regarded Esme from under lowered brows. “Is it more important than my grandson.”
“It’s more important than a scandal,” Jed said with gratifying speed. He nodded at Esme. “I understand how important this appointment is. You need the building approved for the Institute to proceed. We can dare the Tea Shoppe just as easily in the afternoon.”
“The afternoon might even be better,” Esme said thoughtfully. “More tabbies take tea then.”
“Da—darn.” Aaron scowled at Jed. Then he scowled at his brother in law. “You can come with us.”
“Me? The Athena needs…”
“Family is family,” Aaron said determinedly.
Uncle Henry sighed and accepted his fate.
Esme didn’t for a moment believe the scandal about Jed, but as she climbed the stairs to her room to collect her satchel and a coat, she knew they weren’t exaggerating the seriousness of this scandal. It could haunt Jed and her for years, falsely tarnishing his honor. More immediately, it would cast a cloud over this happy time of their engagement and make a mockery of her father’s elaborate plans for their wedding.
“Over my dead body.” She crossed to her dressing table and rummaged through her jewelry box. The ladylike pearl earrings she wore were all very well, but she wanted to make a statement. She slipped the studs out and replaced them with sapphire earrings chosen to match Jed’s engagement ring. She tilted her head to one side, studying the flash of blue fire. There was no need for cosmetics—even if she was inclined to wear them. Color flushed her cheeks and her lips were warmly pink. Her eyes outsparkled the sapphire earrings. She nodded once in satisfaction and walked out of her room.
No one would say she was ashamed of Jed or their betrothal.
Her father waited at the top of the stairs. He studied her face for a long moment, then his own grim expression lightened. “That’s my girl.”
She tipped her head in a silent question even as she took his offered arm.
“I’m pretty annoyed with your Jed for getting tangled up with a gypsy, but I’m proud of you, my dear. You’re like your mum. Prepared to fight for your man. You’ve just the militant sparkle in your eyes as Martha had when she told your grandfather that he could take the clergyman suitor he favored and marry him himself.”
“And what did Grandfather say?”
They descended the stairs slowly.
“He was a devious old beggar. He turned to me and said, ‘congratulations’.” Aaron smiled at her. “Turned out he preferred a barely qualified architect and fossicker like me to a soft-handed preacher. Being a canny Scotsman who knew his daughter, he just knew that Martha would want me all the more for a bit of parental opposition. He needn’t have worried. It was love for Martha and me from the first.”
“As it is for Jed and me.”
“I know.” He patted her hand. “And I’ll support you all the way. Those tabbies had better watch out, Smiths fight back.”
“So do Reeves.” Mrs. Reeve walked out of the dining room on Jed’s arm.
Jed smiled at Esme, his gaze dwelling a moment on the sapphire earrings. “I’ll accompany you to your appointment.”
“Thank you.” Now wasn’t the time to consider Mr. Loonar’s resentment of Jed’s intimidatingly vigorous defense of her. Now was the time that to show that she and Jed were inseparable.
“Good-bye, Grandma. I shall see you this afternoon.”
“Hmph. I still don’t understand about this institute.”
Aaron caught Esme’s eye. “Let me explain.” He ushered Mrs. Reeve into the library.
The first cold shiver of apprehension slid down Esme’s spine when she saw Mr. Loonar’s gloating expression and how it only deepened at the sight of Jed.
The old Port View newspaper building looked spruce and inviting in the spring sunshine. Honeysuckle sprawled over a side fence, scenting the air with sweetness. The lawn was clipped and inside Esme knew the expansive building showed evidence of the repairs, repainting and outfitting that she’d organized.
Mr. Loonar stood beside Miss Wilson on the front veranda.
Miss Wilson’s expression was habitually severe. A stocky woman in late middle age, her dark grey dress emphasized her no-nonsense character. As Esme approached on Jed’s arm, her gaze travelled between the couple without any alteration of her expression.
Esme breathed a silent sigh of relief. Miss Wilson, at any rate, was willing to trust Esme’s judgment of her fiancé.
“Good morning, Miss Smith. Mr. Reeve.” Mr. Loonar smirked. His bottle green waistcoat strained over his paunch and his brown jacket creased at the shoulders. His boots were unpolished.
Nepotism, Esme thought viciously. If Mr. Loonar weren’t the mayor’s cousin, he wouldn’t hold the job of town planner.
“Miss Wilson.” Jed raised his hat to the older lady. “Mr. Loonar.”
“How unexpected to see you.” Mr. Loonar literally licked his lips. “With Miss Smith.”
“I am his fiancée.” Esme fished the key out of her satchel and unlocked the door. The smell of fresh wood and new paint gusted out. “After you.”
Mr. Loonar marched into the front classroom and looked around without interest. He rocked on his worn out boot heels. “I thought, under the circumstances, there might be some question.”
“Of what?” Esme asked belligerently. This little man was not going to get away with questioning her engagement.
Beside
her, Jed regarded the man with the air of one sighting a cockroach.
Mr. Loonar scuttled away from the direct challenge. “Oh, nothing, nothing.” He moved on to the second and larger classroom, already fitted out with desks sturdy enough to support heavy typewriters. “You’d best show me the fire escape in here.”
Grimly, Miss Wilson did so.
The town planner stuck his head out the window and grudgingly passed the escape.
“Bathrooms. A school for women needs plenty of bathrooms. I know how you ladies like to primp and preen.” His gaze snagged on Miss Wilson’s uncompromising scowl. “Ahem.”
“The bathrooms are this way.” As you well know. Esme lead the way to the bathrooms, prettily tiled in white and blue.
“Damn fancy for a school,” was Mr. Loonar’s comment. “Still, fancy fittings for fancy women.”
Esme grabbed Jed’s fist, easing his arm down, even as her own blood boiled. A fancy woman was another name for a prostitute. “The kitchen is this way. We’ll be providing a midday meal for the students.”
For some of the women, it would be the main meal of their day. The Institute intended to take in women from every social class and background, rich and poor, European, Nyungar or Indian. This daring mix was why she had to be so careful to emphasize the Institute’s respectability—and her own.
Mr. Loonar declined to examine the downstairs print room, soon to be a workshop.
It confirmed Esme’s suspicion that this entire venture was just his way of making life more difficult for her. She pulled the approval papers out of her satchel and extended them to Mr. Loonar for his signature.
“I don’t have a pen,” he said.
Silently, Jed held out a fountain pen.
Mr. Loonar muttered, rested the papers on the wide veranda railing and scrawled his signature.
“And here.” Esme had made sure she knew exactly where he needed to sign to ensure the authority of his permission. “Thank you.” She scooped up the papers and nipped Jed’s fountain pen back from the horrible man.
“Oh, you’ve got your building right enough,” Mr. Loonar said. “But you’ll never be able to use it. The respectable people of this colony aren’t going to let a fast woman like you run a school, not a female whose fiancé dallies with tarts—not that I blame Reeve here. Nope. I understand he wants to lift the skirts of a real woman.”
If Mr. Loonar thought the fact that they were in full view of a busy street would save him, he miscalculated.
Jed lunged, seized him by his lapels, shook him and flung him down the steps.
The sly, nasty-minded creature scrambled up with more speed than dignity and ran off down the street, his torn jacket flapping.
“Oh dear,” Miss Wilson said rather inadequately.
“Oh dear?” Esme looked from Jed—standing at the bottom of the steps, his fists on his hips, glaring after the fleeing figure of the town planner—to the retired school mistress and fellow board member.
“I think we’d better call a board meeting.”
“Damn.” Jed couldn’t have said what annoyed him most: Loonar’s snide behavior or his own uncharacteristic loss of control. “Damn.”
Cursing didn’t help. He turned away from the curious onlookers who’d slowed their steps to watch the drama. Housewives and busy tradesmen were willing to postpone their own activities if he intended to do anything else of interest.
He rubbed the back of his neck, aware that he hadn’t shaken off his anger and that his actions had made the scandal worse. The gossips would wear out their tongues with talking. He walked back up the steps to where Esme waited with Miss Wilson. “Sorry. I know you could have handled Loonar.”
“Better than you, young man,” Miss Wilson said, though she added fairly. “The provocation was extreme.”
More than you know. Loonar was only the last straw. First there was Grandma’s surprise arrival and then this gypsy scandal—and he hadn’t protected Esme from either. While she might be a suffragette, he still held to old-fashioned notions like looking after his woman. And deeper than both these issues was his own lurking knowledge that in marrying him Esme would give up her own home and family to build a new life with him in San Francisco. He had to be worthy of her sacrifice.
“Yes, it was. You should have kicked him in the pants while you were at it.” Esme tucked her hand in his. “Miss Wilson, would you call the board meeting for morning, please?”
“I shall.”
“Thank you. If you’ll excuse us?”
“Of course.”
They had walked to the Institute and now they had to walk back. Jed had never felt so self-conscious, not even as youngster at his first ball. No one snubbed them as Esme greeted one or two of her acquaintances, but there were whispers and giggles and a sense of halted motion as people paused to watch them.
“It may work to our advantage that you punched Loonar,” she said after a long silence.
“Pardon?”
“He isn’t well-liked. People know what he’s like. They’ll approve of you defending my honor.” She nodded decisively. “Yes, I think that’s the tack we should take.”
“Esme—”
She squeezed his hand tighter. “You are a hero. My hero.” She gave a half laugh. “Do you think I would venture into the Tea Shoppe for anything less than love?”
Chapter Ten
Esme craned her neck to view the perky white bow on the bustle of her new mulberry red gown. It looked ridiculous, but she trusted Jane’s fashion sense and this was her newest dress. It was meant to be for her trousseau, but this afternoon’s bunfight was more important than new clothes for the trip to San Francisco.
She tugged at the crisp white cuffs that gathered the fullness of the puffy sleeves into tight constraint. They were as pristine as her new white gloves. She carefully adjusted the angle of Jed’s engagement ring on her finger.
A white ostrich feather on her mulberry velvet hat brushed her face. She pursed her lips and blew it away before it touched her mouth or tickled her nose. She would have to remember to hold her head straight or the darned feather would get in her tea.
Nothing could be allowed to get in the way of restoring Jed’s reputation—and her own. She had her responsibilities to the Institute of Modern Women to think of. Most important, though, was for Jed to know that his honor was respected. He was an honorable and proud man. She would defend his honor.
In this militant mood, she marched down the stairs, slightly disappointed that her fashionably slippered feet were silent rather than defiant.
But she couldn’t be disappointed in the expressions on the faces of the men waiting for her in the hallway. Her father regarded her with pride, Uncle Henry with approval and Jed…he walked forward to take her arm and his expression was desire, awe and fierce possession.
“My darling Amazon, you look beautiful.”
“Ahem.” Mrs. Reeve tapped her walking stick on the floor. “Now that you’re here, let’s get this show on the road.”
Uncle Henry offered her his arm and they all exited to the carriage.
Esme ducked her head, careful not to damage her hat as she entered the largest of their carriages. The grooms had polished its brass till the carriage shone and the matching pair of grey horses gleamed.
“I need to think about getting an automobile,” her father said. “Or my future son-in-law could give me a bounding-vehicle.”
“Just as soon as I can be sure the design won’t tip you out and break bones.”
Mrs. Reeve shuddered. “The risks you take in the name of science.”
In their own ways, they were each trying to appear normal, but there was no denying the sense of strain in the carriage during the brief ride to the Tea Shoppe. Esme sat beside Jed and took comfort in the familiar clean linen and bay rum scent of him.
The carriage halted on a side street and they descended.
With Jed supporting her on one side and Aaron on the other, Mrs. Reeve safely navigated the moving s
tairs of the Tea Shoppe. She stopped at the top to shake out her skirts. Waves of silence spread through the room as gossiping tables noticed the newcomers. Heads turned—etiquette being no match for curiosity—then turned back, bowing close together as the level of conversation resumed and built to a crescendo.
Monsieur Pierrot glided forward. “Messieurs, mesdames. A table, but of course.” He glanced around the busy room and a vacant table seemed to spring forward in response to his compelling gaze. “Follow me, s’il vous plait.”
The table was one of the favored ones, positioned against the large sea-ward windows. It was also one of the focal points of the room.
Esme shot a glance at Monsieur Pierrot’s impassively smiling face. Had this maestro of tea guessed that her party would show up here to stage their fight for social survival?
The table could comfortably seat eight. Given that they were a party of five, that left three chairs for visitors. Etiquette at the Tea Shoppe allowed visitors. Anyone could slip into an empty seat, but it was for the hostess at a table to indicate the visitor’s degree of welcome. A smile granted her the seat, a sign to a waitress for an extra cup and saucer permitted a longer visit (no longer than twenty minutes, though) and a request to a waitress for a complete setting and more cakes was a full welcome with no time limit.
Such fiddly points of etiquette frustrated Esme and she was seldom a visitor to the Tea Shoppe. Nonetheless, she respected Monsieur Pierrot management of his sanctum.
He seated Mrs. Reeve with a flourish. A discreet wave of one gloved hand summoned two waitresses.
Jed held Esme’s chair for her.
“Thank you.” She smiled brilliantly, conscious of their audience.
Beverage choices were discussed, Jed and Uncle Henry opting for coffee, Esme and her father for tea. Mrs. Reeve questioned the tea options closely. On learning that the Tea Shoppe did indeed offer lapsang souchong, she requested that.
“The smoky flavor adds something,” she informed the table.
Curses and Confetti Page 6
