Chapter 34
Beatrix stepped from the hansom cab and onto the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue. After paying the driver, she stood on the sidewalk, appreciating the sight of her family home, feeling as if she’d been away for years instead of months.
Four stories tall and built of limestone, the house was created in a style that combined Italianate touches with the formality of French neoclassicism, and was a lavish display of opulence mixed with a hefty dose of refinement.
The front door, flanked by tall windows, opened, and then Mr. Parsons, the Waterbury butler, was striding toward Beatrix, frowning as he stopped in front of her.
“Miss Beatrix,” he exclaimed. “We’ve had no word you were returning home. What’s happened?”
Before she could answer, Mr. Parsons took hold of her hand as his gaze ran over her, concern in his eyes before he pulled her into his arms and gave her a good squeeze. Releasing her a moment later, he stepped back. “You’re a mess.”
Beatrix grinned. “I’ve just been on a train for hours and hours, so of course I’m a mess. But do know that nothing too troublesome has happened to me.”
“Too troublesome sounds like a story to me,” Mr. Parsons said firmly. “But before I hear the details of what I’m certain is going to be a disconcerting tale, you should go and greet your parents while I ring to have some coffee and cakes brought to the library, which is where your parents are currently engaged in their latest . . . ah . . . diversion.”
“Should I ask what that diversion is this time?”
“Best to see it with your own eyes.”
Exchanging a grin with him, Beatrix walked with Mr. Parsons into the house, the fresh scent of lemons greeting her. Lemon was a scent her mother adored, which was why the maids always polished the furniture with lemon paste and also spritzed the air with lemon water a few times a day.
Mr. Parsons gestured her down the long hallway that led to the library, telling her he’d join her there directly after he fetched the coffee.
Striding down the hallway, Beatrix heard her mother’s laughter, followed by a hearty laugh from her father in response, and braced herself for whatever diversion they were pursuing now.
Arthur and Annie Waterbury enjoyed the reputation of eccentric couple about town, that reputation a direct result of the disregard they showed at times for what society expected of members of the New York Four Hundred. That her father was one of the wealthiest men in the country allowed them to disregard the rules at will, especially considering he was from a Knickerbocker family, which meant his position within society was solidly secure, no matter the antics he and Beatrix’s mother got up to.
Easing open the door to the library, Beatrix stepped inside, coming to a stop and shaking her head at the sight that met her eyes.
In her absence, the library had undergone a bit of a transformation.
The floor-to-ceiling bookcases were currently draped in linen, and all the furniture was missing in the room, save for a few battered chairs that Beatrix had never seen in her life and a large table that was in the middle of the room, holding a potter’s wheel on it.
Her mother, Annie, was sitting in front of the potter’s wheel, a mound of clay whirling about, and her father, Arthur, was standing behind her with his arms around her, both of them apparently trying to mold the same pot together. Given that the clay whirling around on the wheel resembled a blob instead of any discernable object, it was apparent that they’d yet to master the art they were currently pursuing.
“It’s no wonder the two of you are often the talk of the town, what with your unusual habit of always touching each other,” Beatrix said, moving farther into the room as her mother’s head shot up, as did her father’s, right as the blob on the wheel collapsed, bits of it flying into the air when the wheel kept spinning.
“You need to stop pumping the foot pedal, darling,” Arthur said before he abandoned the clay and moved around the table. “Beatrix, this is a lovely, although unexpected, surprise.”
Annie nodded as the wheel came to a slow stop and she rose to her feet. “Indeed, it is a lovely surprise, but why didn’t you send us word you were returning home? And what are you doing home in the first place, and better yet, where’s Gladys? You didn’t get yourself arrested again and she’s sent you back to us, did you?”
“I didn’t send word because, frankly, it didn’t cross my mind, what with the more important matters I’ve had to think about of late,” Beatrix said, holding up a hand when it seemed as if her father was about to hug her, but given that his hands were covered in clay, she wasn’t really keen to have him do that. “And no, I wasn’t arrested again, nor have I done anything to annoy Aunt Gladys. She wanted to travel to New York with me, but Edgar came down with a horrible sore throat right as we were getting ready to go to the train station. That unfortunate situation had me encouraging Aunt Gladys to stay behind because she was obviously concerned about Edgar and wanted to personally see after him.”
Annie tapped a clay-covered finger against her chin. “Dare I hope that Edgar might be finally turning his thoughts to marrying my sister? He clearly adores her, and I’ve made a point to say prayers for him every now and again, praying that he’ll eventually set aside his pride and realize he and Gladys belong together—and not as employer and butler.”
“You knew that Aunt Gladys is more than fond of her butler?” Beatrix asked.
“She’s my sister. Of course I knew, even though she’s never bothered to broach the subject with me.”
Arthur picked up a rag and began wiping the clay from his hands, sending an affectionate glance to his wife. “And while Gladys is always an interesting topic of conversation, darling, what say we momentarily shelve this particular subject and move on to why Beatrix has returned.” He caught Beatrix’s eye. “I thought the plan was for you to stay at Gladys’s until at least Christmas.”
“It was, but there were extenuating circumstances that had me cutting my visit short.”
“And explaining those extenuating circumstances certainly deserves to be told while having coffee and cake,” Mr. Parsons said, wheeling in a cart that had her mother’s silver service on it.
As Mr. Parsons went about pouring out the coffee, Arthur strode from the room, returning a short time later, dragging a small table behind him. Her mother quickly excused herself to wash the clay from her hands.
“Why have you all but dismantled the library?” Beatrix asked as her father began pulling battered chairs around the table he’d brought in.
“Your delightful friend Mr. Murray Middleton told us the lighting in here was more conducive to working with clay because the floor-to-ceiling windows bring in just the right amount of natural light,” Annie said, walking back into the room.
“You’ve recently seen Murray?” Beatrix asked.
Annie nodded. “We frequently see him because he’s begun offering instruction in art.” She shook her head. “Your father and I attended a few of Murray’s classes on abstract metal sculpting, but we experienced somewhat of a problem with that.”
“Your mother almost burned Murray’s studio down when she got too close to the flame we were using to heat the metal in order to make it supple,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “Before anyone knew it, the mitts she was wearing to protect her hands caught on fire. Murray’s wife, Maisie, was quick to rush to your mother’s aid, dousing her with the water from a vase of flowers an earlier class had been using as their subject matter.”
Annie released a sigh. “Your father and I weren’t overly surprised when Murray offered us private lessons, but only if we’d agree to take those lessons here.”
Beatrix grinned. “I imagine he was most insistent on that.”
“Indeed he was,” Arthur said. “Which explains why the library is currently in a state of disarray, although because your mother and I have decided we really enjoy pottery, we might add an artist studio to the back of the house.”
“Have you actually finished any pieces of pottery?”
“We haven’t,” Annie said cheerfully before she tossed a rather flirty grin to Arthur. “But it’s been marvelous trying.”
“You do know you’re embarrassing me, don’t you?” Beatrix asked.
Annie’s smile was anything but contrite. “We’ve been alone now for weeks. Clearly we’re out of practice with how to comport ourselves when our children are underfoot.”
“Which does leave me questioning whether having the house to yourselves, save for all your staff, might have been a great incentive to banish me to the wilds of Chicago.”
Annie’s smile dimmed as she nodded to Arthur. “You’ve still got clay on you, dear.”
“Which I’m sure is your way of saying you’d like a few minutes alone with our daughter,” Arthur replied with a nod of his own. “I’ll be right back.”
“Give me at least twenty minutes.”
Arthur smiled and strode from the room, Mr. Parsons following him, saying over his shoulder that he was off to fetch additional treats from the kitchen before closing the door behind him.
Annie moved to Beatrix’s side and engulfed her in a warm embrace, the scent of lemons mixed with clay leaving Beatrix smiling.
“I’ve missed you, my darling girl,” her mother said before she gestured to one of the battered chairs. “Shall we sit?”
Taking a seat, Beatrix soon found herself under the unwavering stare of her mother.
“You’ve not been sleeping,” Annie proclaimed.
“It’s difficult to sleep on a train, even with Aunt Gladys reserving a private Pullman car.”
“A more pleasant way to travel than what you probably experienced getting to Chicago.”
Beatrix smiled. “You must know I wasn’t overly bothered by having to take a passenger car to Chicago. It gave me an opportunity to meet new people, and I did have quite the adventure on that ride to Chicago.”
“And I’m sure you’ll explain that more sufficiently in a moment, but returning to your lack of sleep. You’ve never had difficulties sleeping before, even when you’re on a train, which means . . . you’ve met a man, and one who is giving you trouble if I’m not mistaken.”
“How did you come to that conclusion?”
Annie shrugged. “You and I have always been very similar, Beatrix. And the only time I ever experienced difficulty sleeping was after your father and I first met.” She blew out a breath. “Your grandmother, Mrs. Howard Waterbury, didn’t approve of me at first as a suitable bride for your father. My father, as you know, made his fortune in mining and had no illustrious ancestors to impress New York society when he moved here. Because of that, and because the Waterburys are firmly of the Knickerbocker set, your grandmother did everything in her power to dissuade your father from courting me.”
“But he obviously wasn’t dissuaded.”
“He did have reservations, though, after his mother, sister, aunts, and even a few friends began telling him how unsuitable I was. He stopped calling on me for a good month without any explanation, which caused me more than a few sleepless nights, trying to figure out where the charming gentleman with whom I’d fallen in love had gone.”
“Clearly that charming gentleman returned at some point since you’ve been married to him all these years.”
Annie smiled. “He did, but only after I took matters into my own hands. You see, one day I’d taken my horse to Central Park, and Arthur was there with a group of his friends. He had the audacity to ride past me without so much as a doff of a hat, and something inside me snapped. I chased after him and told him he was being an idiot. I then told him that while he apparently felt I was socially unsuitable, four other gentlemen, all of whom actually wanted to marry me and didn’t care about my lack of grand social status, had already approached my father to ask for his blessing to court me.” Annie’s smile turned smug. “Arthur came to his senses in a remarkably short period of time after realizing he was about to lose me forever, and that, my dear, was the end of my sleepless nights.”
“What did Grandmother Waterbury think of that?”
“Oh, she wasn’t pleased at first, but I managed to grow on her, and we eventually enjoyed an amiable relationship.” Annie sat forward. “Is the trouble you’re experiencing with a man a direct result of his mother?”
Seeing no reason to deny that a man was the root of her sleep deprivation of late, Beatrix nodded. “To a certain extent, but Mrs. Nesbit isn’t worried about my social status, although she was at one time, when no one was aware that I’m an heiress or a member of the New York Four Hundred.”
“You didn’t let anyone know who you are?”
“I wasn’t hiding it, but after Aunt Gladys arranged for me to take on a position at Marshall Field & Company, I decided that I wouldn’t benefit nearly as much from that position if everyone there came to the conclusion I was only working in a store as some type of lark.”
Annie was out of her chair and moving for the door in the blink of an eye. Opening the door, she let out a small shriek when Arthur and Mr. Parsons stumbled into the room, sheepish smiles on their faces as they then went about acting as if they’d not been eavesdropping.
“I’ve brought additional treats,” Mr. Parsons proclaimed, walking out of the room again and returning a moment later, pushing a second cart.
“I’ll help pour more coffee,” Arthur said, and after he did exactly that, and after Mr. Parsons handed out fine bone china plates with cake, cookies, and fruit on them, everyone took a seat and turned their attention to Beatrix.
“Start with the store,” her father suggested.
“I think she should start with the adventure she mentioned she had on the train getting to Chicago,” Mr. Parsons said, a remark that suggested he’d been eavesdropping from practically the moment he’d left the room.
“I think she should start with the gentleman responsible for her sleepless nights,” Annie argued.
“A Mr. Nesbit,” Mr. Parsons said with a nod.
“How about if I just start at the beginning?” Beatrix suggested.
“That works for me,” Arthur said.
It took over an hour to get most of the story out, what with how everyone kept interrupting her and demanding she expand on a few of her adventures—such as the train heist, the demotions and then dismissal from the store, the many suffragist meetings she’d attended, the remaking of Theodosia, her visit to jail, the cats who wanted to plot her demise, the relationship between Aunt Gladys and Edgar, and then . . . question after question about Norman.
“I’m still a little unsure about why you and Norman suffered such a disagreement with each other,” Annie said slowly when Beatrix paused to take a sip of coffee. “Although I am beyond thrilled that you’ve finally met a gentleman you care about, which is what I was hoping would happen when I sent you off to stay with Gladys.”
“I thought you sent me off to stay with Aunt Gladys because I’d landed myself in jail.”
“Twice, dear, you landed yourself in jail twice, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about that other time when you almost landed in jail, when you were with the oh-so-charming Poppy Blackburn.” Annie regarded Beatrix over the rim of her coffee cup. “And speaking of Poppy, before I forget, she and her lovely husband, Lord Reginald Blackburn, are currently not in town, having gone to Kentucky to visit her parents. I believe they’ll be back soon, what with Poppy expecting a new addition to their family right around Christmas.”
“Then I’ll see her when she returns since I’m not intending on going back to Chicago.”
“You mustn’t be hasty about that,” Annie countered. “Before I got distracted with thoughts of Poppy, I was about to tell you the true reason why I sent you away from New York, and no, it wasn’t because you landed in jail.”
“Was it because I misled you about my relationship with Thomas Hamersley?”
“No, although I was certainly annoyed with you for being less than truthful with me about that relationship over the years.” Annie smiled. “However, I eventually realized why you’d perpetuated what was basically fraud on your part, and that, my dear, is the true reason for sending you off to stay with your aunt.”
Beatrix frowned. “I’m afraid I’m not following.”
Annie took a sip of her coffee. “You used Thomas for years to keep other gentlemen at a distance—and not only gentlemen who might have been too interested in the wealth that’s attached to your name. By having society believe you and Thomas would marry at some point, you were free to go about your life without being pursued, well, until Thomas went off and got himself engaged to Helene Leggett. After word about his engagement got out, you then made the claim to me that you’d decided long ago to never marry, but I don’t believe that’s true.”
Setting aside her cup, Annie sat forward. “I believe you’ve always wanted what your father and I share—an unusual partnership in the eyes of society, but one that’s always been filled with laughter and love.” She exchanged a smile with Arthur before returning her attention to Beatrix. “God has blessed your father and me with a true love story, but I’m sure our love, being so unusual, must seem like an anomaly to most people, including you. That’s why I believe you used Thomas as an excuse to not become romantically interested in any gentleman, saving you disappointment in the end.”
“Until she met Norman Nesbit,” Arthur said with a nod. “Who apparently, from what I’ve been able to grasp, became incredibly put out after discovering Beatrix was not merely a salesgirl, but an heiress.”
Beatrix blew out a breath. “That’s not the main reason Norman became incredibly put out with me, but I’ve not gotten to that point of the story just yet, what with all your questions.”
“We’ll be silent as church mice,” Mr. Parsons said, setting aside his cup and folding his hands in his lap.
Beatrix resisted a smile. “That’ll last for about a minute, but allow me to use that minute to explain. You see, Norman wasn’t all that upset about learning I’m an heiress. What he was most upset about was learning there could be a chance I was a spy, interested in stealing those research papers I told you about.”
“That’s absurd,” Annie said with a huff. “Was his mother behind that unfounded accusation?”
“She was, but in her defense, she made that accusation after a letter was discovered at the home of one of the criminals I mentioned earlier.” She nodded to her father. “That letter appeared to be from you and left little doubt that you were responsible for attempting to divest Norman of his research.”