Love on a Dime (6 page)
Her best friend didn’t hesitate. “Yes, that’s why I telephoned. I’m so sorry to trouble you while you’re in Newport, but to be blunt, we need you here. Miss Diller hopes we can assist her in developing a long-term solution to this financial crisis. Together, perhaps we can come up with a plan. And Florence is out with some lung trouble. Miss Diller was hoping we might be able to cover her English lessons this week.”
It felt good to think she might be of some assistance. “I’ll gladly come to New York. I’ve been half-sick here, missing you and the girls. Unless you hear otherwise, I’ll arrive tomorrow afternoon—if I can convince Mama to let me go.”
“That’s splendid.” Miranda sounded relived. “Thank you so much. Do come straight to the Settlement House. I’ll meet you there.” She paused and then asked the next question so quietly, Lilly barely heard her. “May we speak freely? There ’s something else you need to know.”
The office door was closed, but anyone in the hallway could overhear. “I’m afraid not. Will it keep until tomorrow?”
Miranda replied with a tentative, “Of course. And don’t worry. It’s probably nothing but my overactive imagination.”
Lilly dismissed the tone of her friend’s voice and rushed off in search of her mother. She found her on the back veranda with George, Irene, and Harlan lounging on wicker chairs set among a jungle of potted plants.
“Come join us, Lilly.” Her mother gestured to a vacant chair, half-concealed by ferns waving in the breeze.
“Thank you, but I don’t have much time to chat. Mama, I received a telephone call from Miranda. She asked me to come to New York for a few days to work at the Settlement House. You don’t mind, do you?” Of course she knew her mother would mind, very much.
Mama’s eyelashes fluttered. “Now isn’t the best time.” She glanced toward Harlan, whose glower distorted his normally pleasant features, and then she pursed her lips. “You volunteer countless hours during the rest of the year, so you should take time off to enjoy yourself during the summer. Stay here with your family and friends. Miranda is sensible. She ’ll understand.”
Lilly toyed with the lace at the neck. Though she usually followed Mama’s wishes to keep peace in the household, this time she couldn’t. “Miranda wouldn’t summon me unless they truly needed my assistance. So I must go for a short time. I’ll return by the end of the week.” Lilly excused herself and stepped toward the door.
“Wait a moment, Lilly.” Mama’s pale skin reddened from the tight collar of her pearl gray dress upward to her hairline. “I suppose if you must go,” she sputtered, “it would be all right for a day or two. But you must return for the van Patten’s ball. You’ve accepted their kind invitation, so it would be unforgivable to decline at the last moment.”
“Of course.”
Before Lilly could escape, Mama added, “The Carstairses are leaving for the city, early tomorrow morning. I’m sure Beatrice would welcome you along. I’ll make the arrangements. And do ask Miranda to return with you for a visit.”
“Thank you,” Lilly said, surprised Mama didn’t insist she remain at Summerhill where she could keep an eye on her. But naturally Mama wouldn't argue in front of guests. She simply had to make it appear that it was her plan too.
T
he next morning Jack held the telephone receiver to his ear. “Good morning, Mr. Jarman. It’s a pleasure to hear from you, although I didn’t expect we ’d be in contact until I returned to New York. I’ve been giving serious thought to making an offer.”
“I’m delighted. But just yesterday I received another proposal. I wanted you to know since you were the first to show an interest.”
Jack’s pulse quickened. He’d counted on a few more weeks to study the financial statements for the publishing house. “Oh? May I ask from whom?” His stomach tightened. He could see his hopes slipping away.
“Atwater Publishers.”
Their well-established star, Mrs. Elna Price, rivaled Jones and Jarman’s rising newcomer, Fannie Cole.
“We ’re to meet tomorrow morning,” Mr. Jarman said.
“I’d also like to discuss a purchase as soon as possible. Would it be convenient if we met late this afternoon in the city?”
They agreed on a four-thirty appointment before hanging up. Jack quickly stacked his clothes in his valise and searched for the Westbrooks. Gathered for a late breakfast, Jack found them lingering in the dining room over oatmeal, poached eggs, and bacon served on fine china plates.
Mrs. Westbrook blotted her mouth with a linen napkin. “Do eat some breakfast, Jackson.”
“I already have. Thank you. I’m taking the next train to New York. I need to take care of some pressing business that came up unexpectedly. I’ll return in a few days.”
A sly smile turned up the corner of Irene ’s pouty lips. She wore a red frock, guaranteed to garner attention at the casino. An overblown American beauty rose amidst a garden of pale pink and white blossoms.
“How coincidental. Lilly’s also in the city. No doubt she ’ll be thrilled to see you. Don’t you agree, Harlan?” Irene asked.
His face hardened, as did Mrs. Westbrook’s. He paused and then said in a cool tone, “What are you implying?”
Irene shrugged and fingered the cameo at her neck. “Why, nothing.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.” Jack bit back a grin as he exited the dining room.
He left within the hour. Traveling comfortably in a first class compartment, he skimmed two Fannie Cole novels he ’d borrowed from Irene. Much to his surprise, he enjoyed the misadventures of her brave heroes and sassy heroines. The train pulled into Grand Central Terminal late in the afternoon and Jack disembarked.
He hailed a carriage and rode directly to the Jones and Jarman offices on Broadway. As usual, the city was hot and steamy, teeming with people and all types of horse-drawn vehicles. His cab wove through the tangle of traffic.
When Jack arrived at the publishing house, the long and lean Mr. Jarman led him into his inner office crowded with books and manuscripts piled high on tables, shelves, and floor. A small oil painting of the late Mr. Jones, cofounder of the business, hung on the wall beside Mr. Jarman’s picture. He and Jack sat on soft leather chairs as a secretary poured two cups of coffee. Cold lemonade would have suited Jack far better.
The publisher frowned and ran his fingers over his shiny oval head edged with salt-and-pepper hair. Sideburns and a trim beard semi-circled the rest of his face. “Before we begin to negotiate, I think you should read this item.” He handed Jack a copy of the scandal sheet
Talk of the Town
.
Jack scanned the paragraph, nothing more than baiting to try and get Fannie Cole to reveal her identity.
With his hands folded on the desk top, Mr. Jarman leaned forward. “I suspect if Miss Cole doesn’t reveal her name, Colonel McIntyre will up the ante.” His sallow face blushed. “My wife shoves this scandal sheet under my nose quite often, I’m afraid. And since it is in regard to Miss Cole . . .”
Jack stifled a grin. He’d met Trudy Jarman several times socially during the last several months. She was a sweet-tempered busybody who never seemed to miss a word of gossip. But this gossipy item about Fannie Cole certainly was troubling.
Jack leaned forward. “What’s Rufus MacIntyre’s purpose in revealing her identity?”
“He might have a grudge against Miss Cole or her family. But I suspect he ’d rather blackmail her than expose her. He ’s done it before. If she pays, he ’ll keep silent, at least for a while.”
This complicated the purchase. “Have you spoken to Miss Cole about this?”
With a sigh of frustration, Mr. Jarman shook his head. “No, she hasn’t come into the office in quite a while. And, if
Talk of the Town
is correct, she ’s summering in Newport. So she probably won’t return until autumn.”
“Don’t you know who she really is?” Jack asked.
Mr. Jarman shook his head. “She comes here from time to time, but she leaves almost as fast as she appears. I hand her revisions, pay her in cash, and then she ’s off like a scared rabbit. She ’s heavily veiled, and I’ve never caught more than a glimpse of her face.”
Jack groaned. “I’d like to speak to the mysterious Fannie before I purchase Jones and Jarman. It’s imperative for this company that she doesn’t quit writing. She needs to know I’ll help her deal with that scoundrel, MacIntyre.”
“Believe me, I understand your concern.”
“How about if I make my offer early tomorrow morning? Will that be soon enough?”
“Excellent.” Mr. Jarman rose. “Eight o’clock sharp?”
“I’ll be here. Also, would you like to stay on for a while? I’d appreciate your help while I learn the business.”
Mr. Jarman nodded. “I’d like that.”
They shook hands and Jack started for the door. “I have an acquaintance who volunteers at the Christian Settlement House. A Miss Lillian Westbrook. Do you know her?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure, I’m afraid.”
“I was visiting her brother in Newport when you telephoned. She’s part of the New York and Newport set. It’s possible she may even know how to put me in touch with Miss Cole.”
“That would certainly be helpful. If you’re going to the Settlement House, would you mind delivering a box of books? Miss Miranda Reid ordered several Fannie Cole dime novels for the young ladies.”
“I’d be glad to. Do you think they’ll still be open at this hour?” It was already past five o’clock.
Mr. Jarman chuckled. “Oh, yes. Miss Diller resides on the premises along with several university students who are dedicated to helping the poor.”
Lilly would think he ’d contrived this unexpected visit, but he’d gladly endure her displeasure if she assisted him in locating Fannie. She knew so many society people, he felt sure she had some idea of Fannie ’s real name. And why wouldn’t she help unless she felt duty bound to keep the authoress’s secret? He ’d employ all his powers of persuasion to enlist Lilly’s assistance. Jack sighed. If she refused, he doubted anyone else would help him.
He lifted the book carton, hurried down two flights of stairs, and hailed a Hansom cab. Tossing the box onto the seat, he climbed inside the carriage and exhaled a long breath. He really wanted to purchase Jones and Jarman, but he needed to know how their most valued writer was reacting to
Talk of the Town’s
veiled threat. He assumed she’d seen the item. Everyone in society read the colonel’s scandal sheet, whether they admitted to it or not. But if he couldn’t speak to her, did he dare proceed with the purchase? What if Fannie Cole refused any additional contracts?
Jack groaned as the horse wove through the knot of traffic toward the Settlement House. He needed both Lilly and Fannie to cooperate, but he couldn’t be sure either one would agree.
WHEN LILLY ARRIVED at the Settlement House mid-afternoon, she hoped to find Miranda alone. But her best friend was busily preparing soup for the evening meal, when dozens of the city’s poorest inhabitants would descend upon them, seeking a hot supper. They’d join with the residents and create quite a crowd.
Absorbed in cutting vegetables, the tall, slender Miranda didn’t look up when Lilly entered the room. Her abundance of thick black hair was neatly piled on top of her head and covered with a net. A few unruly tendrils escaped on the sides of her pale face splashed with a handful of freckles. Her hair was one of the few things which defied her discipline.
Several other helpers, college students and society women, worked side by side in the tight confines of the kitchen, chatting as they sliced and diced. They often bumped into each other as they moved about preparing the supper. One saw Lilly and called out a greeting.
Hearing her name, Miranda grinned and then hurried over to squeeze Lilly in a hug. She handed her an apron. “Thank you so much for coming on such short notice.”
“Believe me, I was happy to escape Summerhill for a few days.” Lilly leaned closer over the chopping block and whispered, “I’m anxious to know the news we couldn’t discuss on the telephone.”
Miranda glanced about the crowded space. “I’ll tell you when there aren’t so many ladies around to overhear.”
Lilly nodded reluctantly. “All right.” A blast of heat from the large black range hit her in the face when a helper removed loaves of bread from the oven. But the delicious aroma made Lilly yearn for just a small piece. With butter and strawberry jam. She wiped beads of perspiration from her brow with a clean linen handkerchief and rolled up the sleeves of her navy blue shirtwaist.
Miranda grinned ruefully. “This is a far cry from Newport, isn’t it?”
Laughing, Lilly diced an onion for the vegetable soup. Tears stung her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Several more of the little domes awaited her. “I haven’t even seen the kitchen at Summerhill, though I imagine it’s much cooler. But at least here I can help and do some good.”
While several other volunteers washed potatoes and carrots, Miranda chopped the celery. Her normally pink cheeks grew rosier as she bent over the opposite side of the chopping block from Lilly. “Only a thousand more pieces to slice and I’ll be done.”
Making soup for the large crowd expected for supper in the dining hall required a lot of food and preparation. After an hour’s steady labor, Lilly tried to hide her weariness behind a smile. Unlike Miranda who helped out nearly every day, Lilly assisted only once or twice a week. If she had a choice, she ’d volunteer as often as her friend, but Mama insisted on only the occasional foray into the seamier side of life.
Yet even Mama had to admit assisting at the Settlement House had lifted Lilly’s melancholy moods after Jack’s defection, though Lilly never confided the cause behind her sudden gloominess. Here she discovered how truly blessed she was despite her misfortune at love.
Miss Phoebe Diller, wiry and quick, swooped into the kitchen, heels tapping like castanets against the wooden floor. She greeted each of the women, thanking them all, encouraging each of them, and then looked toward Lilly and Miranda. “Would you two please come to my office after the soup’s on the stove?”
Half an hour later they joined the directress, a pint-sized lady of indeterminable years, though Lilly guessed her age to be somewhere around forty. Miss Diller wore a plain brown dress without adornment, a tight bun scraped back from a plain, heart-shaped face. She never seemed to perspire or lose an ounce of energy, despite the heat. While Lilly and Miranda sat on hard chairs in front of her desk, Miss Diller glanced out the window at a vegetable patch in the back yard. A true Garden of Eden in a rat-infested neighborhood.
Miss Diller turned back to the pair. “Lilly, I’d like to thank you for interrupting your vacation to come back to New York.” Her voice rose above the outside clamor of horse cars and voices shouting in foreign tongues.
“My pleasure,” Lilly said.
Miss Diller smiled her appreciation, but then her face grew serious. “Your father has been a most generous benefactor for many years and I quite understand why he has to halt his donations. We hope he ’s suffered only a short-term setback. But if not, I’m obliged to develop a new plan for raising funds.” Her face brightened. “We ’ve received contributions from Mr. Santerre and Mr. Grail and we ’re enormously grateful. Yet their funds won’t last indefinitely.” She looked at Lilly, then Miranda.
“I’m hoping you ladies might have an idea how to garner more money. I’m at a dead end. Miss Reid, I suspect you know Miss Fannie Cole, the authoress who gives so much to this institution. Would you be able to contact her?”
“I believe I could get a message to her, if you’d like,” Miranda answered, unflustered.
Lilly looked away as her face heated, more from the turn of conversation than the humidity. If Miss Diller knew Fannie ’s true identity, she didn’t let on.
“I would so appreciate your assistance. Please ask Miss Cole if she would open her heart once again and donate a bit more, at least until we find other sponsors. I hate to ask her since she ’s always been tremendously generous, but I must. I’m not too proud to beg when it comes to the Settlement House.”
“I shall make inquiries,” Miranda said.
“Splendid.” Miss Diller clasped her hands at her narrow waist for only a moment before her fingers began to fidget. She paced behind her desk and halted at the bookcase, found a cloth, and began to dust. “Do either of you have friends or acquaintances I might contact?”
Miranda nodded. “Maybe a few. And I’d be glad to canvas the churches near my home. Maybe we could organize a charity ball in the fall.”
“The needs are immediate. Perhaps we could even bring together a charity picnic in Newport,” Lilly put in. “I can ask Mr. Grail to write an article about the Settlement House in his newspaper. It could feature the girls’ wonderful accomplishments and, of course, our need for support.”
“A splendid idea. Thank you.” Miss Diller beamed. “I knew you two would be of great assistance.”
Lilly steepled her fingers. “And I’ll speak to my mother’s friends. And some of my own who might have trust funds or willing husbands. And we can all pray the Lord will find a way to keep this place open and solvent.”
Miss Diller’s eyes brimmed with tears. “You two are God sent.”
For the next hour the three planned a picnic to be held at one of the farms on the outskirts of town, often rented for social occasions. Society loved casual picnics where they shed their formalities and relaxed.
