Thirty

Vera canceled her round of afternoon calls the following day, but there was no hiding from the scandal. Marianne was in the kitchen with Vera to review the grocery list when the downstairs maid brought a tray carrying three calling cards. Two were from senators’ wives and one was from the wife of the postmaster general.

“I must play this like the role of a lifetime,” Vera said grimly, then snapped her fingers. “Quick! Help me tighten this corset a few more inches. These women may outrank me, but my figure shall put them all in the shade.”

The flash of fighting spirit was a relief to see. Marianne quickly adjusted Vera’s corset and ran upstairs to fetch powder for her mother’s nose.

“You look lovely,” she whispered as Vera set off to face the women.

“Polish the tea set while the water boils,” Marianne instructed Bridget, the downstairs maid. “I’ll run to the bakery and buy whatever I can find to serve.” They hadn’t been expecting this and had no gourmet delicacies that would show Vera in a positive light.

Marianne had a stitch in her side from running as she arrived at the bakery. “Please box up every tea cake you have, and two loaves of white bread.” There was enough cucumber and watercress at home to make tea sandwiches, and it would have to do.

By the time Marianne returned home, two more congressmen’s wives had arrived to call. “How is it going?” she asked Bridget as she set the box of pastries on the kitchen counter.

“Your mum is holding her own,” Bridget whispered. They quickly cut the crusts from the bread to make triangular tea sandwiches while the maid talked. “People are polite, but they keep asking after your pa. We all know what they’re dying to know, but your mum is handling it like a queen.”

The front bell rang again, but the smock of Bridget’s uniform was drenched in spilled tea. Marianne’s poplin gown was still presentable. The bell was pulled again.

“I’ll get it.” Maybe it wasn’t quite the thing for the daughter of the household to answer the front door, but there was nobody else.

Unfortunately, it was Congressman Dern’s wife waiting impatiently on their doorstep. Marianne showed her into the parlor and brought another chair for Mrs. Dern. All conversation stopped while Marianne was in the room, but it resumed the moment she left. Marianne pressed her ear to the door to eavesdrop.

The postmaster general’s wife spoke with an oily voice. “What a lovely young woman your . . . ahem, what a lovely young woman your daughter is.”

Vera’s voice was tight. “Indeed she is.”

The postmaster’s wife continued in her delightedly somber tone. “My dear, we are all thinking of you in this challenging time.”

Marianne didn’t care what people thought of her. She just wished this day could be over for Vera.

The doorbell rang again. Instead of another caller, it was only a message boy holding a small card addressed to Vera.

“Thank you,” she said, tucking it into her pocket to deliver later.

It was a trying afternoon, but by three o’clock it was over. Vera was shaking after the women left. Marianne sat with her in the parlor, the remnants of the hastily assembled tea strewn around the room like battlefield casualties.

“Dreadful women,” Vera said. “After they saw you, all they could do was ask questions. ‘How old is your daughter? Twenty-six? How interesting! What lovely coloring she has.’ That horrible Mrs. Sharpe wanted to know if you can sing. We all knew what she was driving at, but I had to sit here and smile and offer her more tea cakes. The witch. I would have liked to rub that tea cake in her fussy, overly tight pin curls. Everyone knows pin curls went out of style last decade.”

Marianne said nothing, just let Vera unfurl the list of petty insults she’d been dealt. While some of the women were there to gawk, Congressman Dern’s wife seemed kind and only wanted to support Vera, but nothing was sitting well with her mother today.

“This came for you while the ladies were visiting.” Marianne set the thick envelope on the table.

Vera perked up and opened the note, the corners of her mouth turning down as she read. “It’s from Colonel Phelps,” she said stiffly. “He sends his regrets that he won’t be able to join us for dinner on Sunday.”

Marianne remained frozen, her chin high. “Did he say why?”

“He didn’t. But I think we all know.”

It was another kick in the teeth. Colonel Phelps was an ambitious man on the rise and couldn’t accept the illegitimate daughter of an opera singer as his spouse.

The paper crackled as Vera wiggled the letter back into the envelope. “He may change his mind once this all blows over.”

“I doubt it.” Marianne spoke without heat or anger, just resignation. She loved Luke too much even to consider Colonel Phelps, but his rejection still hurt.

Vera dropped the note, curled over, and started weeping.

Marianne rushed to embrace her. “Mama, it will be all right!” she soothed. “Don’t worry, I didn’t care for Colonel Phelps. All I care about is you. Please don’t cry.”

“Oh, Marianne,” Vera sobbed. “You are the best, even though you’re not my own. You know I love you, right?”

“Of course, Mama.”

Vera wiped her tears, taking some ragged breaths and gradually composing herself. “Now, darling,” she said, “please don’t take this amiss, but I think things would be easier if you left town for a little spell.” At Marianne’s gasp, Vera rushed to explain. “Only for a little while, darling! You could go live with Andrew and Delia and have a nice visit in Baltimore. I think it would be easier for everyone.”

Marianne looked away so Vera couldn’t see the hurt on her face. Going to Baltimore was impossible. Not only would she rather strangle Andrew than look at him, she couldn’t bear to be that far away from Luke. She couldn’t even see him, but the Poison Squad was doing their best to rally support to his cause.

“I know you’ve been feeling cooped up here,” Vera continued. “If you were in Baltimore, Andrew would be able to keep an eye on you.”

“I’ll talk to Papa about it,” she said noncommittally.

Perhaps there was a way to capitalize on this latest catastrophe that could benefit Luke, but it would come at a terrible cost.

Marianne intended to intercept her father the moment he arrived home so she could warn him of Vera’s plan to ship her off to Baltimore and into Andrew’s smothering protectorate. She wouldn’t go to Baltimore. At least, not without some significant concessions.

To her surprise, old Jedidiah had come from Baltimore and was with Clyde as they arrived home at the end of the day. She greeted them both at the front door.

“Hello, Grandpa,” she said cautiously. This was the first time she’d spoken to him since confessing what she’d done, and he gave her a stiff nod but no smile. It was enough. At least he had come to support Clyde in the face of this latest blow.

“How’s your mother?” Clyde asked without ceremony.

“She’s upstairs, getting dressed for dinner,” she replied. “Eight women called for a visit this afternoon, and she survived it with only a few dings to her dignity. She’s also hoping to send me to Baltimore, and I’d like to speak with you privately before you agree to anything.”

Marianne had spent all afternoon planning how to take advantage of the rapidly shifting family dynamics. Maybe she was aiming too high, but timidity wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She wouldn’t meekly go to Baltimore without winning a huge favor in return.

“Has she figured out it was Andrew?” Jedidiah asked.

She shook her head. “We didn’t discuss it.”

“I never trusted that boy,” her grandfather said to Clyde. “Too ambitious. He was handed everything on a silver platter and didn’t develop the muscle to fight on his own. It’s made him sneaky and mean.”

“Quiet,” her father urged. “Vera might overhear.”

Jedidiah snorted. “She needs to find out about the boy sooner or later.”

“Later,” her father urged. “There’s only so much she can handle right now.”

Dinner was a tense affair, and Clyde briefly reported that Congressman Dern had asked him to remain on the committee to assist with the pending tariff resolution, but recommended he consider searching for another committee appointment by the end of summer. It was a humiliation, but at least Clyde was allowed to save face in the short term.

After dinner, Vera returned to her room upstairs, and Clyde retreated with Jedidiah to the study. Marianne rose to join them.

“If I am to go to Baltimore, we have some issues to discuss.”

Her father’s mouth turned down, but he gestured her inside. Would having Jedidiah here help or hurt her case? Her grandfather mistrusted Andrew but had always warmly approved of her, so that was good, but he was also the hard, unforgiving man who had turned his back on Aunt Stella.

“Yes, Marianne, what is it?” Clyde asked once the door was closed behind the three of them. Jedidiah sat and began filling his pipe, but Clyde remained standing, as did she.

She saw no point in softening her words. “Mama wants me to leave the city because I am an embarrassment to her.”

The blunt statement had the desired effect. Clyde winced and sent her an apologetic look, but his words offered no comfort.

“Then please do so,” he said in a pleading voice. “You know your mother and I both love you, but it would be easier on her if you go. Just for a short while. This is entirely my fault, and I’m sorry.”

On a night like this, when her father was being attacked from all sides, she ought to be supportive and relent. She couldn’t. Not when Luke’s freedom was on the line. Now was the time to fight.

“Yes, it’s your fault,” she agreed. “And yet you want me to go live with Andrew. Andrew, of all people. I’ll go to Baltimore, but only in return for a favor.”

Clyde tensed, and even Jedidiah looked up from his pipe, waiting expectantly.

“I want you to get Luke Delacroix out of jail. I want all the charges dropped, and I want—”

“Forget it,” Clyde interrupted.

“But I was the one who gave those studies to Luke. I was the one who spied. We all know that.”

“I’m not going to put you in jail, Marianne.”

“Thank you, because I’d rather not go to jail. But Luke doesn’t belong there, and I want him out.”

“And if I get him out, you’ll go to Baltimore?”

“I will.”

“Not good enough. I want the two of you separated permanently. Forever.”

A weight landed in her stomach. She’d always known that choosing Luke would mean her family would cast her out. They’d done it to Aunt Stella, and they would do it to her. If she fled to Luke, her father would continue his quest to ruin the entire Delacroix family.

It would be better to engineer a cease-fire. Luke’s freedom was worth it, and she could ensure her father lived up to his word.

“I promise I will leave and never contact him again,” she said, her heart splitting as she spoke, but she had to stay strong while forging this deal.

A calculating gleam lit Clyde’s gaze. “You won’t return his messages or let him see you either?”

“I have no control over what Luke does. His own family can’t control him, so how can I? But I can promise to leave Washington and never contact him again. Papa, we have each other over a barrel. If Luke somehow lands back in jail, our deal is off. I’ll come back to Washington and get the warden to marry us in a prison ceremony. I’ll share his jail cell if I have to.”

“You wouldn’t,” Clyde said.

“I would,” she vowed. “And I have contacts in Washington who will be watching to ensure you live up to your end of the bargain. If Luke gets arrested for littering, you’d better see that he gets out of jail before nightfall.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed as he parsed her words. He clenched and unclenched his fists, a crafty look on his face as he considered the implications. The only sound that could be heard was the ticking clock from his desk.

“We have a deal,” he finally said, and Marianne didn’t know if she should laugh or cry.

Things moved quickly after that. Over the next few days her father called on Congressman Dern and various attorneys to undo the legal quagmire he initiated when he set the wheels in motion to accuse Luke of spying.

Clyde’s preoccupation gave Marianne the freedom to solve the longest mystery of her life.

What happened to Aunt Stella?

The only person to have contact with Stella after she was banished was Esther Magruder, Jedidiah’s wife and Stella’s mother. They carried on a secret correspondence for years, and Marianne remembered glimpsing those letters, always written in Stella’s distinctive purple ink. There had been a short-lived scandal after Esther died when it was discovered the old woman had hired an attorney to create a bequest for her daughter. Esther foresaw Jedidiah’s opposition and set funds aside to posthumously battle her husband in court in order to pay her daughter that bequest. She lost. Stella was never even notified of her mother’s attempt to remember her in her will.

Marianne snuck into her father’s office in search of clues as to where Stella had gone. Letters? Her grandmother’s will? Perhaps Clyde had Stella’s address secreted somewhere in case he wished to contact her about important family matters.

After an hour of searching, Marianne finally struck gold. Clyde kept a file of legal papers documenting Esther’s failed attempt to leave her daughter a bequest. One of the papers contained Stella’s last known address in Carson City, Nevada.

Marianne retreated to her room with the prized address and pulled out her copy of Don Quixote. Was she as foolish as Don Quixote, seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses and fighting for impossible causes? Just because Aunt Stella wrote with purple ink and dared to elope with the man of her dreams didn’t mean she was some sort of heroine, but Marianne still liked to hope she was. She hoped Stella found happiness with her dashing husband in the wilds of Nevada, where they built a perfect kingdom of their own.

Near the end of the week, her father came to her room.

“I have a deal with Congressman Dern,” he said in a clipped voice. “Lawyers are preparing an agreement. Delacroix will be released tomorrow afternoon. I have notified Andrew to expect you on the eleven o’clock train to Baltimore tomorrow morning.”

Relief trickled through her along with a wallop of dread. This was suddenly all very real. She had known it was coming, but it was still hard.

“I shall be ready.”

Both her parents accompanied her to the train station the following morning. It was the Baltimore and Potomac Station, the wonderful gothic building she had once explored with Luke. This would probably be the last time she ever saw it, for it was due to be torn down soon. It made the lump in her throat grow even larger.

Vera noticed. “Don’t cry, darling,” she crooned. “You won’t have to stay away too long, and think how much fun you’ll have in Baltimore.”

Marianne nodded. How typical for Vera to completely misread the situation, but she had no desire to clarify things. The train was drawing near, billowing clouds of steam as the engines slowed. The breaks squealed, and heat poured from the locomotive. Clyde looked so stern, even though he had won almost everything. She was leaving Washington and had agreed not to contact Luke. Wasn’t that enough for him?

She met his eyes. Her imperfect, stern, but loving father. They had both disappointed each other, but on this one thing, she couldn’t let him break his vow.

“Please keep your word about Luke,” she said, knowing that even mentioning his name was a risk, but it had to be said. “I know you don’t approve, but I love him, and I’m doing this on his behalf. Please don’t let me down. I don’t think I can bear it if you do.”

Clyde gave the tiniest nod of his head. “I will keep my word. I expect you to do the same.”

She nodded. Vera gave her a farewell hug, but Clyde still seemed angry and offered only a handshake.

Two hours later, the train pulled into the Baltimore depot. Andrew awaited her on the platform, and he was alone.

Good. She would deliver on every promise made to her parents, but nothing extra. She had come to Baltimore exactly like she promised, but now she was free.

“How was the ride?” Andrew asked as she stepped onto the platform. All around her passengers were disembarking, porters unloaded trunks, and people hugged loved ones.

This was not going to be a loving reunion.

“Fine,” she replied. “Papa knows it was you who squealed to the press about my real mother.”

Andrew blanched. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He paid a hundred dollars to learn the source of the story, and what a disappointing surprise it was. He and Jedidiah both want your head on a platter.”

Andrew looked sick. He reeled a little and grabbed a light pole for balance. “Does Mama know?”

“Not yet. She’ll probably figure it out once Grandfather replaces you in the company, which is surely coming.”

The breath left Andrew in a rush. “He can’t do that. I’ve given everything to this company. I’m next in line.”

“Jedidiah can step back in.”

That triggered another round of protestations from Andrew. He hadn’t even bothered to apologize to her. All he worried about was scrambling to secure his own position in the company. She let him ramble as she set off for the ticket window, opening her reticule to retrieve her money clip.

Andrew followed. “Maybe Dad will side with me,” he said. “Grandpa is getting old and senile. He can’t even use an adding machine.”

It was an effort to keep her voice steady, but she managed it. “Grandpa doesn’t need to take over the company. Papa is probably going to lose his next election, thanks to you, which means he’ll be able to take back the reins. Congratulations. You’re about to find out what it’s like to venture out into the world on your own. As am I. I came to Baltimore exactly as promised. Now I am going to buy a ticket to Nevada. Good-bye, Andrew.”

An hour later she was on her way to find Aunt Stella and learn what it felt like to no longer be a Magruder.