Speaking of Louise, where was the woman anyway? He should have run into her and Mrs. Blackthorn between the kitchen and the small room connecting the quarters to the tower. But he’d neither seen nor heard anything. He glanced back. Neither woman was anywhere to be seen.
“Louise? Um, Mrs. Smythe?”
He didn’t receive an answer. What had that independent-minded woman gone and done now?
Blackthorn threw open the door to the tower and grimaced. The man would seriously injure himself if Jesse didn’t step in.
“I’m right behind you.” Jesse crossed the distance in seconds.
Blackthorn grunted and, at the base of the circular staircase, paused.
This was Jesse’s chance. He needed to make the most of it. “Why don’t I go first? I can carry the transfer can, and you can tell me what to do.”
It wasn’t ideal, but the solution seemed to appease Blackthorn.
“All right, but ain’t you gonna miss spending time with your lady caller?”
Jesse gritted his teeth. There was no sense correcting Blackthorn. The man had already made up his mind, no doubt spurred by his wife. But this time Blackthorn could not talk him out of tending the light.
“Duty first.” Jesse stared down the keeper. “That means lighting the lamps, not chatting with callers.”
* * *
Louise did not care to get caught by Jane Blackthorn. The woman was doubtless lonely, tied as she was to the lighthouse, but she was also known to promote matches nearly as much as Mrs. Calloway.
Each of the women felt it their duty to see her married. Even Fiona, who knew some of the circumstances of Louise’s first marriage, saw fit to promote likely candidates. No doubt Jane Blackthorn would join the growing chorus extolling the virtues of Jesse Hammond.
They needn’t bother. Louise was beginning to see that her first impression of the man had been a little off. Jesse wasn’t an ignorant lout. He could be surprisingly pleasant when not fixated on rules and regulations.
Approaching footsteps meant Louise had little time to escape. Never having been inside the keeper’s quarters, she made for what she assumed was the front doorway only to find herself in a cold and unlit room.
“Louise! It is you!” Jane Blackthorn hurried toward her, cutting off all avenues of escape.
“I seem to have gotten lost.”
Jane brushed off the mistake. “We seldom use the parlor. Let’s have a chat back in the kitchen.”
“I should get back to the school, so Fiona—Mrs. Evans—can return home to her husband and niece.”
“Why, it’s pitch-black outside. You shouldn’t walk alone in the dark. Anything might happen.”
Louise recalled Jesse’s suggestion. “Perhaps one of your sons could escort me?”
“Oh, they’re off visiting friends.” Jane took her arm. “Let’s sit a spell until the men are done, and then Jesse can walk you to the school.”
“But he said it would be a long night.”
“Nonsense. The wind’s died down, and there isn’t a storm cloud to be seen.”
They entered the kitchen to the smell of camphor, undoubtedly from the ointment Mrs. Blackthorn had used for her husband’s injury. Louise fought the urge to cover her nose. The astringent odor burned with each breath. A cup of tea amid such lingering scent would not be pleasant.
Jane had already placed tea leaves in a strainer and was pouring steaming water from the stove kettle through it and into two cups.
“I don’t want you to go to so much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Jane said. “As a matter of fact, there happens to be something I’ve been wanting to ask you. You being at the hotel and all, I thought you might know what’s going on.”
“What’s going on?” Louise frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Yet fears surged. Had the Benningtons responded already to their daughter’s illness? A wire might have been sent from Holland. The man who brought mail south from that community was willing to send cables upon his return for a small fee.
Jane Blackthorn patted the caned hardwood chair beside her.
Louise couldn’t bear to sit, not if her livelihood and that of her friend were at stake.
“Have a bit of tea, Louise.”
Since Jane apparently wouldn’t say anything until she sipped her tea, Louise sat and obliged her with a tiny sip. It tasted of camphor.
Jane leaned close. “Well, Mabel Calloway said that she’d heard the hotel was going to close.”
Louise’s heart thudded to a stop. Surely that wasn’t possible. Fiona would have told her. Then she recalled her friend’s strained expression and the way she rubbed her temples when she was looking at the ledgers for the school. Since the hotel and the school were inextricably linked financially, the failure of one meant the end of the other.
“I told her that was impossible,” Jane said in a low voice, as if there was anyone near to overhear. “Why, Sawyer’s family is enormously wealthy. He could simply borrow from them.”
Louise knew her friend well enough to see through that solution. Sawyer’s father had besmirched Fiona’s reputation back in New York. The repercussions had driven Fiona here to Singapore, only to fall in love with the dastardly man’s son. It had been a tangle that had seemed solved, thanks to the generosity of Sawyer’s mother. But a woman has only so much influence in her marriage. Men invariably found a way to seize back control. Louise knew that lesson all too well. She had brought home a stray dog, Falstaff, named for his comical large ears and clown-like spots of white around his eyes. For a while, Warren tried to train Falstaff, but when the dog went to Louise instead, Warren grew to hate it.
Though years ago, her heart still ached for her poor pup. She blinked back a tear and took another tiny sip of the tea while drawing her thoughts back to the present.
If the hotel was suffering financially, Sawyer would let it close before he took one penny from his father. If Louise had been in his situation, she would do the same.
Jane squeezed her hand. “Oh, dear. Then it is true.”
Louise must have let her fears show. She mustered a smile, pitiful though it must be. “In truth, I’m not privy to such matters. Fiona said nothing to me of any problems.”
“But it’s possible.”
“Anything is possible, but surely Fiona would have told me. We are friends.”
Jane gave her a pitying look. “Some things are difficult to say, even to a friend.”
Louise was spared further discussion by the men’s reappearance.
“The light is lit,” Mr. Blackthorn announced.
Jesse halted just inside the door. His scowl changed to surprise when he saw her. “You’re still here.”
* * *
Louise struggled to find something that would pull Jesse Hammond from the silence that enveloped him.
She brushed off his offer of his arm, still conscious that Priscilla might be watching for them. “Not necessary.”
Instead of debating her, as he had on the walk to the lighthouse, he maintained a respectable distance, close enough to assist if she stumbled and far enough away not to cause any gossip.
The descent to town took place in silence, so she dwelled on the possibility that the hotel might close. Alas, she could think of nothing to improve business. Though many cargo ships called on the port, the town had few visitors. Most who came ashore were passing through on their way to the lumber camps.
She sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Jesse said.
He sounded genuinely interested. Rather than radiating tension, he seemed much more relaxed. Louise, on the other hand, had gone in the reverse direction.
“Oh, nothing,” she said automatically. “Just thinking.”
“That sigh sounded more like a problem.”
“It could be,” she admitted. “Mrs. Blackthorn said she heard the hotel is not doing well. Sawyer and Fiona Evans own both the hotel and the school.”
“So if the hotel closes, you’re afraid the school will too.”
She didn’t want to admit that fear. “One shouldn’t affect the other.”
“You don’t sound very confident.”
“It doesn’t matter if I’m confident or not. I have no control over the situation.”
“A person always has some control, and an intelligent woman like you has more than you think.”
She was glad that darkness hid the heat that rose to her cheeks. “My intelligence has nothing to do with the situation. Neither the hotel nor the school belong to me.”
“But their stability affects you. If the school fails, you could lose your position.”
That sounded terribly selfish. “Fiona is my friend. I want her and her husband to succeed, not because of my teaching position but because I care about her.”
“Of course you do.”
“I don’t know how to help.”
He didn’t say anything for several steps. Then he halted, making her come to a stop. She waited, but he said nothing.
She peered into the darkness, unable to make out his expression, even in the moonlight. “What is it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know anything about running a school, but I do know that a business succeeds when the income outweighs the expenses.”
“I know that.” Then, realizing she’d sounded arrogant, she added, “I meant to say that I would like to find a way to help increase receipts, but thus far I fear I’ve only hurt them.”
She resumed walking.
This time he joined her. “In what way have you hurt receipts? Has one of the students left?”
“No.” Louise didn’t care to mention her struggles with Priscilla, especially since the girl had honed in on Jesse as a way to irritate her. “But as an employee I draw wages.”
“Rightfully so. I’m sure Mrs. Evans doesn’t regret one cent paid to such an invaluable employee.”
How could that man infuriate her one moment and touch her heart the next? “Thank you for the compliment, but kind words don’t bring in more students.” Especially with Priscilla working against her.
“Maybe it’s not a question of bringing in students. Maybe you could bring in more people who need a place to stay.”
“The hotel?”
“You said they’re owned by the same people.”
She nodded. “But they’re entirely different institutions.”
“Naturally, but we can apply similar principles. Though I’ve never had anything to do with running a hotel, I have frequented my share, enough to know they are a business like any other. In any business you first need to discover what people need and then find a way to meet that need.”
“They need a place to stay.”
“That’s a start,” he continued, “but now figure out what else they need.”
“Clean linens? Heat? Meals? They can get all that at the hotel.”
“Is there competition?”
That didn’t take much thought. “The boardinghouse.”
“What can the hotel offer that the boardinghouse can’t in order to meet the needs of their clientele?”
They’d reached the school. She climbed the porch stairs, Jesse’s words tumbling around in her head. His suggestion was all well and good, but lumberjacks wanted inexpensive housing and little more. They weren’t about to spend their last dollars on an elegant hotel when for a lot less they could get a room and meals.
“I’m afraid the hotel is too fancy for the average man coming into Singapore,” she sighed.
“Then they will need to find other clientele.”
“Find other...” A steamship’s horn interrupted her thoughts. One must have just arrived or was ready to depart. Ships did arrive in port regularly. Many came to haul out lumber and produce, but others brought needed supplies. Some also carried passengers on their way to Holland or Detroit or Chicago. What if those passengers got off here instead? What if Singapore could become a destination?
“That might be the answer,” she mused.
“What might?”
Louise began to answer him but was interrupted by the front door of the school opening.
Fiona stood in the doorway. Her color was high, and she looked agitated. “I thought I heard someone arrive, and I hoped it was you.” Then she noticed Jesse. “Oh, Mr. Hammond! I’d invite you in, but I need to speak to Louise right away.”
The delight of puzzling out a problem with Jesse vanished under Fiona’s jangled nerves. Louise had seldom seen her friend in this state, and past instances had only been under extreme duress. Had something terrible happened? She hurried to the door, forgetting Jesse in her rush to discover the source of Fiona’s agitation.
“Thank you, Mrs. Evans, but I can’t stay.” Jesse tipped a finger to his hat. “I need to get back to the lighthouse. Good night.”
“Good night to you also.”
Louise turned to face him before entering the school. The light from the doorway cast his face in a golden hue. “Thank you for walking me here.”
“My pleasure.” Jesse nodded farewell and clattered down the stairs before disappearing into the night.
After Louise entered the school, Fiona closed the front door and leaned against it with evident exhaustion. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“What happened?” Louise removed her hat and stuck the pins in the hatband, hoping that she was not about to learn that what Jane Blackthorn had suggested was indeed happening to the hotel. “Has Priscilla taken a turn for the worse?”
“No! Not that, though it does relate to our patient.” Fiona took a deep breath. “They have arrived.”
That was not what Louise had expected to hear. “Who has?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Bennington. They’ve seen their daughter, and now they’re waiting to speak with us.”
Louise knew at once what that meant. Trouble had landed.
Chapter Seven
“This is the teacher in question?” Mrs. Cecilia Bennington peered down her patrician nose at Louise before sniffing with disdain. “There is no accounting for the lower class’s taste.” She then directed her attention back at Fiona.
Louise had no idea if Mrs. Bennington viewed her as lower class or if she was referring to Jesse and thus measured Louise as beneath lower class. In either case, the woman had clearly meant to insult her. She had silently endured similar treatment from women like Cecilia Bennington during her marriage and widowhood, but a year in Singapore had shown her that she did indeed have value. She was not merely an oddity to be examined and then pushed into a corner. Her opinions counted for something. Hadn’t Jesse said as much?
She could bear disdain, snubs and even false accusations from the likes of Cecilia Bennington, but she could not and would not allow her or anyone else to disparage another person, especially when that individual happened to be an intelligent man who had valiantly served the Union during the recent conflict.
“Mr. Hammond is a credit to his country.”
Mrs. Bennington snapped her head toward her at the unexpected comment. “One would expect the unprincipled one to defend the other.”
Louise was livid. She could no longer sit quietly and endure blatant insults. She was about to respond when she caught Fiona’s warning glare out of the corner of her eye. Her friend clearly wanted to handle this herself, but Fiona wasn’t the one being disparaged.
“Mrs. Bennington. Mr. Bennington.” Fiona fluttered between the two the way she did amongst patrons at one of her concerts. “Surely we can sit and discuss this over tea like civilized people.”
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She motioned to the two stuffed chairs that someone—probably Sawyer—had dragged into her office.
“Would you care for tea?” Fiona managed gracious hospitality even when facing the insufferable. She must have been a fine actress as well as singer.
If only Louise could exude such grace. Instead, she stood stiff as a wooden doll.
Fiona swept a hand toward the desk. “Allow me.”
That’s when Louise noticed the tea service. My! She took pride in her powers of observation, but temper had narrowed her vision to the extent that she could not see the details. Fiona’s warning glance had spared her from an ugly confrontation and deep regret.
“I will serve.” Louise brushed past Fiona to get to the tea service. She needed to do something. Being useful had kept her out of the eye of the wealthier women in the past. Serving seemed to make her invisible, as if she became no more than a maid.
“Milk and sugar for me,” Mr. Bennington said with a consoling smile as he settled into one of the chairs.
He was definitely the more companionable of the pair, though clearly not the one in charge. His top hat and overcoat hung from a coat tree in the corner. Expensive silk and quality fabric. Louise remembered it well, though she would never again be able to afford such luxuries.
“I take mine black,” Mrs. Bennington said without looking in her direction. “Now, where were we?”
Fiona sat in the chair beside the desk. “We are going to discuss the matter in a civilized manner.”
“What is there to discuss?” Cecilia Bennington said with a swish of her silk skirts. “When we received the wire, we rushed to our dear Priscilla’s side only to find she has suffered greatly under the tutelage of a woman of questionable virtue.” Her glare in Louise’s direction made it perfectly clear who that woman was.
“It’s a simple misunderstanding.” Fiona’s voice took on a soft, comforting tone, quite different from usual. “Your daughter happened to walk past the classroom precisely when Mr. Hammond rescued Mrs. Smythe from a precipitous fall.”
Would-Be Mistletoe Wife Page 8
