Love on Assignment (17 page)

Charlotte had caught him earlier with a fistful, so he would undoubtedly know if the supply was depleted.

“They are my favorites.” Mrs. Wilmont emphasized every word. “They're not on my new diet, of course, but one or two won't hurt.”

“I'm sure we have gingersnaps and sugar cookies . . .” Charlotte offered.

Mrs. Wilmont shook her head so vigorously her steel gray pompadour almost bounced. “No, no. I'm partial to oatmeal raisin. No other kind will do.

“Where is the maid? Good help is impossible to find these days.” She drew out a weary sigh. “I don't wish to wait any longer. Charlotte, go fetch my tea and cookies, if you will.”

Charlotte understood an order when she heard one. “Of course,” she said, anxious to leave the aging
enfant terrible
. “I shall not be long.”

Please, Lord, give me an abundance of patience
. She truly hoped God listened and cared enough to help because she needed extra assistance with this woman.

“I'll help her,” Daniel volunteered.

His mother's jaw dropped. “Well, I never heard of such a thing.
Assisting the help
. Really, Daniel.”

Professor Wilmont followed Charlotte to the stairway leading to the kitchen, an embarrassed grin crossing his face. “Don't pay attention to my mother.”

“Is she always so—particular?” Charlotte whispered, then immediately regretted her impulsive remark. “I apologize. I ought not to criticize. After all, she is your mother and my employer.”

He chuckled. “She's always particular. You'll get accustomed to her. Her bark is worse than her bite.”

Charlotte shrugged, unconvinced. “I'll do my best to please her.” But she'd try to stay clear of the lady who had a personal maid and a houseful of other servants also at her beck and call.

“Would you like something to drink, sir?” Charlotte asked as she started down the stairs.

Daniel shook his head. “My mother will keep you busy enough without the rest of us adding to it.”

Charlotte smiled, certain Professor Wilmont was right. His mother promised to be a stern taskmaster. “That's kind of you.”

“Well, I'd better return to Mother or she'll have my head.” He smiled and didn't seem concerned about his mother's indignation.

Simone hustled into the kitchen and raised an eyebrow at Charlotte. “What are you doing here?”

“Mrs. Wilmont would like tea and oatmeal raisin cookies. I'd be glad to fetch them for her.”

Simone's stern mouth softened. “Yes, make yourself useful. I'm terribly busy, preparing her rooms. She'll be calling for me at any moment.”

Charlotte nodded and fished out the last few cookies from the bottom of the ceramic jar.

With a silver tea tray in hand, she soon climbed upstairs with her offerings. When she heard her name, she stopped short in the hallway outside the drawing room.

Mrs. Wilmont spoke in a low tone, but Charlotte heard every word. “She seems like a nice enough girl, but I wish you'd waited for me to come home before hiring someone off the street.”

Charlotte's pulse quickened
. Off the street?
Anger spurted through her veins and poured its heat into her face and neck. How dare Mrs. Wilmont imply she was less than respectable.

“Now Mother, I hired Miss Hale because we needed a governess right away. I'm glad I did.”

“Was Miss Hale the first one who came along or was she just the most attractive?”

Professor Wilmont let out a hearty laugh. “No, there were others, but she was definitely the prettiest.”

“And the nicest,” Ruthie added.

“I'm sure she's a lovely girl, but she's not appropriate for our family. We don't know anything about her, now do we? Have you checked her references?”

“I haven't had a chance, but I shall if you really want me to.”

“I most certainly do.”

The professor paused. “Mother, I hardly think it's necessary.”

“Please do as I ask.”

“All right,” the professor murmured in a voice Charlotte could barely hear.

She shuddered at the mention of references. Mr. Phifer had taken care of all the details with Edith Ann's assistance. Charlotte bit her lip. Why hadn't she glanced through those recommendations before handing them over to the professor? How could she have been so careless?

Stepping closer to the open doorway, she peeked around the corner into the drawing room.

Mrs. Wilmont shook her head and raised her eyes toward the ceiling. “I'm too tired to argue, Daniel, but you should pay attention to my requests without questioning me. Consider replacing this girl with an experienced and mature woman. You'd be doing all of us a favor.” Her weak voice grew more insistent.

Charlotte held her breath. How would the professor respond? Did he like her well enough to keep her on? Time stood still as she waited for his reaction. Her feet were stuck to the hallway floor, too heavy to move. Her hands shook and a few drops of tea spilled into the saucer.

“Mother, let me pray about this. I'm convinced Miss Hale will work out if you give her half a chance. When the Lord answers me, I'll let you know.”

Good response. Charlotte smirked. Maybe she'd hold on to her position after all. Without a job they'd soon lose the house and everything they owned. She carried the tea and cookies into the den and delivered them to Mrs. Wilmont with a faint smile. She wouldn't give the old bat any reason to dislike her or fire her.

THE NEXT MORNING his mother waved Daniel into the morning room where sun streamed through the screened windows.

“I'd appreciate it if you'd speak to the people who vouched for Miss Hale—without delay.” His mother sat on an overstuffed chair, her long fingers pushing a quilting needle in and out of the fabric stretched tight in her hoop. “It will relieve my mind to know Miss Hale is a woman of impeccable character—if indeed she is.” Pursed lips clearly stated her opinion.

Daniel knew he should have checked Miss Hale's references before he hired her, yet he'd felt sure they were as genuine as the young woman herself. But if he didn't check, his mother would pester him to death. “As soon as my classes are finished for the day, I'll be on my way.”

He retreated to his home office and shuffled through papers and files, searching for the letters. Growing more and more impatient with his chronic habit of losing everything, he vowed to organize the chaos on his desk. The parlor maids straightened up every day, but somehow he wasn't able to maintain neatness. Now where could he have put those recommendations? After a thorough search, he found them beneath a stack of books.

He scanned the names and addresses and noted all three people lived in Newport. Mrs. Amelia Hillman, Miss Hale's aunt; Miss Edith Ann Wengle, a friend; and Mr. Henry Stapleton, a former teacher, now retired. Finding the trio should be a relatively simple task.

Later that day he drove the gig toward town, references in hand. He came to a stop on Spring Street and knocked on Mr. Stapleton's door, but the woman who answered insisted she'd never heard of the man. Odd, but most likely the gentleman was getting on in years and wrote down an incorrect street number.

Next he called at the boardinghouse where Miss Wengle resided. The landlady, a Mrs. Foley, claimed the young woman worked at a newspaper until six o'clock, so he could return later if he wished.

Her lips thinned. “Oftentimes she stays around the office. Or”—one eye squinted—“she goes off gallivanting with her friends. I can't say, but I have my suspicions.”

“Do you happen to know which newspaper employs her?” If she worked for the
Newport Gazette
, he might stop by to speak to her. He didn't recognize her name, but she could be a new hire.

The elderly woman frowned. “Miss Wengle works for that rapscallion Arnie Phifer over at the
Rhode Island Reporter
. She's ambitious, that one is.” Mrs. Foley took Daniel's measure in one sweep of her rheumy eyes. “And what would you be wanting with her?”

“Miss Wengle wrote a recommendation for my children's new governess. I'd like to ask her about it.”

“I see.” She had a skeptical glare in her eye that wouldn't soften. “What's your governess's name?”

“Miss Hale. Charlotte Hale. Do you know her?”

The woman shook her head. “Never heard the name before. I'm quite sure she never comes to visit. I'd know if she did. No one gets inside my boardinghouse without my say-so.”

“Perhaps she and Miss Hale are school friends,” Daniel suggested.

“Not if your governess is from Newport. Edith Ann Wengle moved from Tiverton just a few months ago. May, I think it was. The only people she seems to know work with her.”

Taken aback by the implication of Mrs. Foley's comment, Daniel felt his nerves tense. “No, Miss Hale wouldn't be associated with the
Rhode Island Reporter
. Definitely not.”

Mrs. Foley shrugged her thick shoulders. “Then I can't tell you how they know each other. If you'll excuse me, I must be getting back to my stew.”

She left him in front of her closed door. Daniel boarded the gig and started toward his next destination. Questions concerning the two young women niggled at his mind. How had they met, and why would Miss Hale ask an employee of Arnie Phifer for a recommendation? Very peculiar. Yet he felt certain that if he questioned her, Miss Hale would offer a reasonable explanation.

He drove through town and soon arrived on the Point, his last stop. He was not surprised that the houses in this working class neighborhood needed more care than they received. Many labored as fishermen, ships carpenters, and chandlers and probably found little time or money to improve the exteriors of their century-old homes. Even Miss Hale's home sagged in the middle.

He knocked on the door. Miss Hale spoke little about her family and when he asked, she only offered a few words. A thin woman of middle years opened the door, a wary expression etched on her face. Her dark, heavy-lidded eyes looked curious, but not unfriendly.

“May I help you?”

He tipped his bowler. “I'm Professor Daniel Wilmont, Miss Charlotte Hale's new employer. She gave me a letter of recommendation written by her aunt, Mrs. Amelia Hillman. If I may, I'd like to speak to her.”

Alarm flashed across the woman's face as she stepped onto the sidewalk. “There's nothing wrong with Charlotte, is there? She's not taken ill, I hope.”

Daniel gave a reassuring smile. “No, she's fine. I'd merely like to check the accuracy of the reference.”

Her worried frown smoothed, though it didn't quite disappear. “Do come inside. I'm Charlotte's aunt, Mrs. Hillman.”

She led him into the tiny parlor cluttered with too much furniture and inexpensive bric-a-brac. Flimsy curtains let in enough sunlight to brighten the chocolate brown chairs and sofa. He inhaled the harbor breeze faintly tinged with salt and seaweed, a pungent scent. Mrs. Hillman directed him to an overstuffed chair by the mantel as she perched on the edge of the old settee.

A girl in a wheelchair glanced up from her knitting and flashed a broad smile. Mrs. Hillman introduced her as Charlotte's sister, Becky. With wavy hair and brown eyes, Becky closely resembled Miss Hale. The girl's green dress looked worn and faded, probably a hand-me-down.

Mrs. Hillman leaned forward. “What is it you'd like to know about Charlotte?”

“I'm checking merely to ensure Miss Hale is who she says she is.”

He expected the aunt to smile at his rather ridiculous statement and assure him Charlotte was indeed her beloved niece just as she claimed. Then he could return home to report to his mother her worries were unfounded. Instead, the color leeched from Mrs. Hillman's lined face, leaving a grayish-white pallor.

Becky's knitting needles clattered to the floor, distracting him from her aunt. He picked them up and handed them back to her.

“Thank you, Professor. Please excuse my clumsiness.” Becky bent over her half-finished mittens, and her needles immediately resumed their
click-clack
.

“Of course.” Why were they both so nervous? “Excuse me, but did I say something to upset you?” He turned his attention to Mrs. Hillman.

A tentative smile flickered across her face. “No, of course not. Now you wanted to know about my niece—yes, Charlotte Hale is my late brother's daughter. She and Becky have lived with me here for ten years, ever since their parents passed on. I can assure you Charlotte is a most respectable and responsible young woman. You can ask anyone down at the—in the neighborhood. Everyone knows her.” Mrs. Hillman's fingers picked at the crocheted armrest, and her mouth twitched as if she'd said more than she ought.

“I'm sure her character is above reproach.” Daniel stood to leave.

“Do you have any more questions, Professor Wilmont?” Mrs. Hillman asked as she rose and led him toward the front door.

“Why do you suppose your niece decided to take the job of governess? She graduated from high school, which is quite an accomplishment. Surely she could find a position more challenging than caring for my children this summer.”

Mrs. Hillman shook her head. “I think you ought to ask her, not me. Her decisions are her own.” Her mouth tightened.

“Did you approve of her accepting work outside your home?” He felt quite sure from her expression that she did not. Perhaps that was the undercurrent he was sensing.

She stared at her hands with regret. “I'm afraid I'm too arthritic to work anymore. Charlotte has supported Becky and me for several years. I don't know what we'd have done without her. She's a hardworking, generous girl.”

Daniel's good opinion of Miss Hale—Charlotte—rose even higher than before. She labored diligently to support her family and never complained of her considerable responsibility. How could he not admire her loyalty and selflessness? His heart swelled with high regard for her virtues.