Man Most Worthy Page 11
“Yes, of course. That is why I came, after all.” Not the whole truth, but that could wait. He already felt the years slip away and much territory regained since he’d first met her. At her answering smile, he sat back, content for the moment to steal glances at her soft profile while the hansom bumped along.
Alice. Even her name mouthed in silence was nectar, and he savored the syllables on his tongue.
Alice took Nicholas—even pronouncing the syllables to herself caused a blush to steal over her—to the working class suburb just to the northeast of London. She waved to a line of two-story row houses along one side of a quiet street.
“Our society was responsible for this construction. They are four-room dwellings as you can see, with plenty of windows for ventilation.” They walked down the paved sidewalk as she pointed out the features. “We used the latest construction methods, including plenty of running water and toilets—radical fixtures according to many, but why should the poor live with things the rest of us are taking for granted?”
She waited for his reaction, but he said nothing, appearing to study the plain facades.
“You see they are well-kept.”
He nodded. “No rubbish in the streets.” Children played on the pavement. A few stopped their game to stare at them.
Alice walked up to the door of one dwelling and rang the bell. “Let me see if Mrs. Brown is at home. Then perhaps you can see the inside of one of these.”
A red-cheeked woman in her twenties, holding a baby in her arms, answered the door. A smile broke out on her face at the sight of Alice. “Oh, Mrs. Lennox, what a pleasure.”
“Hello, Mrs. Brown. I have brought an old friend from America. I wanted to show him some of the houses the Society has built. Would you mind very much showing us your home?”
The woman moved inside. “Oh, not at all, madam. Come right in. Would you like a cup o’ tea?”
“No, thank you, we don’t want to trouble you.”
The woman led them from a small front parlor to the kitchen at the rear of the house, where a toddler sat playing on the floor. She showed them a narrow back garden where a scullery was located. Then they climbed a staircase to the upper floor and ducked their heads into two small bedrooms, one facing the street, one facing the back.
Nicholas turned to Mrs. Brown as they walked back down the stairs. “How many children do you have living here with you?”
“Four, sir.” She smiled proudly. “The two oldest be at school now. They’ll be along shortly.”
He nodded.
Alice smiled and held her hand out to the woman. “Well, thank you ever so much, Mrs. Brown.” She tweaked the baby’s cheek. “How big she’s grown since the last time I saw her.”
Mrs. Brown beamed. “Yes, that she ’as.”
“How is your husband?”
“Oh, Jerry’s ever so well. He found work at the railroad just up the road.”
“Well, let me know if you need anything.”
Nicholas shook her hand at the door. “Thank you for showing us your home.”
“That’s quite all right. We be ever so grateful to Mrs. Lennox for ’avin’ put such a good roof over our ’eads.”
They walked back down the steps. Alice chanced a glance at Nicholas’s profile. He appeared deep in thought. So long accustomed to thinking of him as Mr. Tennent, his first name made her feel like a schoolgirl again, as if she were breaking the rules somehow.
“You can see the difference, can you not? Although both neighborhoods hold families earning very low wages, anywhere from eighteen shillings a week to twenty or twenty-one. And that is when they can find work. Mr. Brown, for example, was unemployed when I first met Mrs. Brown.”
“How did you meet her?”
“I was working at a mission run by Miss Endicott, the lady I mentioned to you earlier. They offer food and temporary shelter to unemployed people.”
He glanced at her. “This woman seems to have had a profound influence on you.”
She tilted her head. “In a sense. I believe, more, that she offered me an outlet to make myself useful after I was widowed and had come back to London to live. Julian was my true inspiration.”
He said nothing.
“He had a servant’s heart. He wasn’t afraid to go into any quarter where there was a soul in need.” She sighed, feeling the familiar sense of unworthiness whenever she thought of him. “It was probably on such a mission of mercy that he contracted the tuberculosis that eventually killed him.”
“You are carrying on his work.”
It was a statement not a question, she realized. She pondered it as they made their way down the sidewalk past the row of terrace houses. “In a sense. Being his helpmate opened my eyes to the futility of my father’s way of life.”
He raised his eyebrows in question.
“Living to make a profit.”
“You find that futile?”
“It’s all Father ever cared about.” She smiled sadly. “He suffered a heart attack a year ago and his work was over. There was nothing of it he could take with him. Julian’s life, on the other hand, had a sense of eternal purpose.”
“But your work would not go forward without the help of those whose purpose is to make a profit.”
She pursed her lips. “I suppose you are right. But I’m glad I am not of their ranks.”
He helped her back into the hansom and once he’d seated himself beside her, asked, “Where to now?”
Afraid she’d taken up too much of his time already, she laughed. “I imagine you have had enough of London neighborhoods. You can drop me off at the Society. Thank you for coming with me this morning.” Once again his rescue filled her heart with relief and admiration. He had certainly come a long way from the secretary whom she’d taught tennis and horseback riding. The tables had somehow been reversed, and it was she who now felt in his debt.
“It was my pleasure. It was most informative. I was serious about making a donation. That’s one of the reasons I’ve come back to London.”
She looked down at her clasped hands, remembering his bravery. “You were very kind to those men back there. It was generous of you to give them something.” She felt a deep sense of relief that he was not, after all, cut from the same mold as her father.
“It doesn’t mean I believe in simply giving a handout. It’s not the answer.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “It depends on the individual case. In this case, it was generous of you, all the same.”
When they reached her building, he accompanied her to the door. “Are you sure I can’t take you somewhere for a cup of tea?”
She held out her hand with a smile. “Thank you, but no. There are things I need to do, and I’ve taken too much of your time already. I truly am grateful that you came with me today. Perhaps you can visit us again some time.”
“I should like that, Alice.” The words were spoken quietly, but the way he was looking at her made her think he meant more than merely a visit to the charity.
She inclined her head a fraction, wondering whether to leave the invitation open-ended or make it specific.
“You used to do that.”
She smiled. “What?”
“Tilt your head like that. Like a wood nymph deciding if it wants to flicker its golden wings and flitter away.”
She laughed, delighting in the fanciful imagery. “I never suspected you of being poetic.”
“I’m not. It is only you who brings me to any flights of fancy.”
Now, the look was unmistakable. She glanced away and tried to keep her tone light. “I’m surprised you remember such a detail about me.”
“I remember a lot of things.”
“Do you still play tennis?” she asked to change the course of the conversation.
“I do.”
Her eyes widened.
“You find that surprising?”
“I suppose I imagined you too busy with your business to leave you any time for trivial pursuits.”
Her eyes widened. “You did? And I never knew…” She laughed aloud, feeling lighthearted all of a sudden.
He joined in her laughter.
Then she said on the spur of the moment, “Would you like to come back out to Richmond on a weekend? We could have a match. Or, a re-match, should I say?” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry. Perhaps that place holds unpleasant memories for you.”
“Not at all. Why should it?”
“Because of your riding accident…and my father.”
“No, I have no bad memories of Richmond.” His voice was quiet, his gaze warm.
“I’m glad. Let me know when you’d like to come out.”
“Would this weekend be too soon?”
It was too soon. Once again, apprehension filled her. Things were moving too quickly. But she found herself saying, “Not at all. The weather is too hot to stay in London anyway. We can take the train out. I like to get out of the city for Austen’s sake.”
“You said he was frail.”
She looked away and nodded.
“Very well. This weekend then.”
“We can ride out Friday evening if you’d like,” she told him. “I generally take the five o’clock train out of Victoria. I shall invite Miss Endicott as well. I’d love for you to meet her.”
“Very well. I’ll meet you at the station.” Once again, the look in his brown eyes said more. But she chose to ignore it as the fancy of a sixteen-year-old girl who no longer existed.
Chapter Eight
Nick walked back to his office with a buoyant step. He’d had a remarkably good morning in the company of Alice.
His steps slowed, remembering their brush with danger in that rundown quarter. He didn’t like to think of her involved in such hazardous work. He wondered over this new friend of hers—Miss Endicott—who seemed to hold such influence over her.
These questions revolving in his mind, he arrived at his new London headquarters. He’d arranged to have it purchased through his London agent before he’d even stepped foot back on his native soil. The imposing gray granite office building was a suitable testimony to his years of toil. It overlooked the Bank of England and the Stock Exchange in the heart of the financial district. His gaze traveled farther down Threadneedle Street. Only a few blocks away was the office of Shepard and Steward, where he’d been forced to leave so dishonorably fifteen years earlier.
A pity, he could no longer show Mr. Shepard what he’d lost in dismissing him. His ire rose anew at the thought of her father disinheriting Alice. How could a man with so special a daughter be so cold-hearted? And what of her brother? Hadn’t he defended his sister’s share of the business?
He turned slowly, glancing to the east, remembering again the encounter with the derelict man. Beyond the wealth represented by this financial district lay neighborhoods filled with men who’d been broken by adversity. Had the Lord sent him back to his homeland to do something with his wealth to help these men and women? Together with Alice to mitigate the circumstances of their lives?
Not one given to romantic notions, he believed in the blessings that came to those who worked hard. Nevertheless, he recognized his good fortune was also due to God’s grace. Having achieved far above what he’d set out to, he wanted to put his money to good use in education and decent housing for those who were laboring the way his mother had.
His office’s shiny brass plate winked at him: Tennent & Company, Ltd. He entered the building and let the door shut behind him, muting the traffic sounds and sunshine.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Tennent.” Clerks greeted him as he walked past them and headed for the lift to his private office at the top.
His secretary, a young man who reminded him of himself so long ago, jumped up from his desk as soon as Nick entered the outer office. “Good afternoon, Mr. Tennent.” He handed him a stack of papers. “I have the letters for you to sign. Mr. Paige stopped by and desires to make an appointment about the impending purchase of Bailey and Company.”
Nick took the stack and began glancing through it. “Yes, arrange something for Thursday morning or afternoon. I may be leaving early on Friday.”
“Yes, sir. Another appointment?”
“What?” He glanced up. “No, just leaving early for the weekend.”
The clerk stared at him.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing, sir. I—just—you’ve never left early before. You’re usually here later than most of us.”
“Well, that is about to change.” He carried the letters to his desk and picked up a fountain pen and began to sign the letters. He handed them back to the young man. “I want you to do something for me.”
“Yes, sir.” His secretary waited, the letters in his hand.
“I want you to find out everything you can about the firm Shepard & Steward, Ltd. Investments. I believe that is still the name of it. At least the name of Shepard will appear in it as the principal partner. Understood?”
The younger man gave a quick nod. “Very good, sir. I’ll get on that right away.”
“Assets, liabilities, the members of their board, you know the things I expect.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dig deep. I want to know what they’ve invested in over the years.”
The young man grinned, enjoying the painstaking work of investigation as much as seeing the accumulation of profits. Nick had chosen well.
When the secretary had closed the door softly behind him, Nick sat down at his desk chair and swiveled it around to stare through the slatted window blinds. The afternoon sun cast several buildings including the Bank of England in shadow. Beyond it rose the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Nick’s thoughts strayed from the sight to the things Alice had told him—or not told him—but which he’d observed in the few hours he’d been in her company.
He stroked a finger against his lips. The dangerous encounter today had had one benefit. It had allowed him to take a step closer to Alice—she’d accepted his friendship. Yet, for all her gratitude, he sensed a reserve in her that went deeper than that natural to a lady toward a gentleman of scant acquaintance. Her strange words came back to him, stunning him as much now as they had when she’d uttered them. “No matter how unlovable I might feel.” How could such a beautiful, accomplished woman with every material advantage feel unlovable? He would have given her his whole heart if he could have. Instead, a poor young clergyman had been the one privileged to show her love.
Dear God, why? He didn’t miss the irony. He’d left, thinking himself too poor to offer Alice anything; yet, she’d chosen a man probably more destitute…almost as if rejecting everything her father’s world stood for.
Alice had forsaken all wealth to follow her heart. Nick had never known that kind of love, except for his mother’s to his father.
Would Alice hold his wealth against him now?
By early Friday evening, however, Nick reclined in a tub of steaming water and smiled to himself, like a man replete after a full banquet. Perhaps he oughtn’t to have felt this way, but he couldn’t help himself.
He’d enjoyed the train ride from London in the company of Alice and her son. Any trepidation he’d had over the militant Miss Endicott had quickly dissolved upon meeting the lady. She’d proved an elegant, charming woman in her fifties who was clearly fond of Alice.
After some debate over suitable gifts, Nick had brought Austen a boy’s adventure book and Miss Endicott a box of chocolates. Undecided between a bouquet of flowers or a luxurious box of chocolate bonbons for Alice, he’d finally settled on a book for her as well.
“It’s the la
test Sherlock Holmes tale,” he said as she removed the brown paper wrapping in the train compartment.
“The Sign of the Four.” She read the title on the cover and smiled at him across the seat. “Thank you. I enjoyed the first Holmes mystery and I’m sure I shall this one, too.”
Austen sat close to his mother in the corner of the compartment during the ride, clutching his raggedy stuffed rabbit closely to his side.
As soon as they arrived at the Richmond house—looking little changed from fifteen years ago—they had separated to their rooms until dinnertime. Nick was shown to a spacious bedroom on the first floor. The masculine-furnished room with its four-poster mahogany bed was quite a contrast from his cramped, hot room under the eaves during his first stay in the house.
Now, soaking in the hot, scented water of the tub, he devised a strategy to follow over the coming two days the way he did when approaching the purchase of a company.
During the train ride, he’d questioned Alice some more about her years away from London. She’d spoken little about the time immediately following his departure, but had been quite effusive about her years at the parson-age. In retrospect, Nick decided he had one sole advantage over the late curate. Nick was alive. No lifeless memory could compete in the long run with a living, breathing person.
His spirits lifted as he thought of the coming weekend. He emerged from the tub and donned the evening clothes laid out by his valet.
He adjusted the gold cuff links in his starched white shirt as his valet tied his black bow tie. After helping him on with the jacket, the man gave his lapels a final smoothing down then stood back, giving Nick a full-length view of himself in the cheval glass.
Nick eyed himself critically. The black swallowtail coat and matching waistcoat fitted him well. His white shirt collar stood up stiffly around his neck. Would he pass muster before Alice? She who had grown up among the well-dressed?
Thanking his valet and giving him the evening off, Nick made his way downstairs. No one else was about as yet, so he wandered onto the terrace.