Vintage Love (137 page)

“And I shall need the names of those you wish at the service,” the private detective said. “Shall we make it for ten tomorrow morning?”

“If you can manage it all by that time,” she said.

“I’m sure I can,” Phineas Pennifeather said. “I shall send you a message this afternoon telling you where the service will be held. In the meanwhile I’ll see you home, and you must promise to rest and not grieve too much. This is perhaps the best way it could have ended.”

“I wanted to rescue her,” she said brokenly.

“Peg was a wilful girl from all you say,” the old man reminded her. “She might not have taken well to the idea of being rescued. She might have gone on being a cause of heartbreak to you. Death comes to us all. It has mercifully come to her a little earlier than for you or I. But in the passage of time it is only a trifle of years.”

His wisdom helped her. But when she was back in the great mansion, she felt completely deserted. Not that there weren’t others in the house. There were Elizabeth, Mark, and Mark’s jolly nurse, but she could not share her burden with any of them. Not with Mark because of his illness, not with the nurse because she was a stranger, and not with Elizabeth because the spinster already thought her a low person. Knowing she had a sister who was a prostitute would only make her disgust increase.

The April evening was mild, and she went out in the garden to walk and think. After a little she heard footsteps in the gravel path and turned to see that it was Bart Woods who had come to join her.

He said, “You have not let Matthew know your decision?”

“No,” she said.

The handsome dark man eyed her sharply. “You look most unwell. Is Mark worse?”

She kept her head bent, staring at the ground. “No.”

“What is it then?”

And without ever being able to understand why she did it, she raised her eyes to meet his and said, “My sister was a prostitute. She died this morning—a terrible death. I’m burying her tomorrow.”

He looked at her in utter amazement. “Do Mark and his sister know about this?”

“No.”

“But you’ve chosen to tell me?”

“Yes,” she said, somewhat shocked by what she’d done. “I guess I needed to tell someone.”

The dark man said, “So that is why we haven’t heard from you.”

“Partly,” she said. “My mind has been on other things beside the business.”

“That is reasonable,” he said. “First, let me say I’m sorry.”

“Why should you be?”

He gazed at her unflinchingly. “You should know why. I’ve been in love with you since the first time I set eyes on you.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“I have no reason to lie.”

“You want me to help you win Mark’s permission to change the company policy.”

“I’m not telling you this because of the business,” he said with impatience.

“No?” Her grief helped her to be cynical.

“No,” he said earnestly. “I do really care for you.”

“You’re a married man with a wife and an infant son,” she said.

“Vera hates being married,” Bart said grimly. “I might have known. It was fortunate she became pregnant early. She won’t let me touch her now. She’s as frigid as her mother!”

She stared at him. “You are telling me you and Vera are not living as man and wife?”

“Not for months,” he said with some anger. “She bleats about her frail health and her general dislike of the entire business between man and wife!”

“Can’t you have her mother talk to her?”

“Her mother encourages her. They are as alike as peas in a pod. Only Matthew is of any worth. And James does nothing but send for money to keep him in style in America.”

She stared at his troubled face. “I can believe you,” she said. “It seems it is a night for confessions.”

The big man said, “We might gain a good deal from being honest. I take it Mark is no longer a husband to you in the full sense of the word.”

“Not in the full sense of the word,” she said grimly. “Not for a long time. I was a bar maid when he married me. I worked in the dock slums in a tavern operated by a man named Crown.”

“I know it,” Bart Woods said. “I have been there. I thought I was the only lowly-born living here in style. I’m happy to have a comrade.”

“I was happy as a bar maid,” she mused. “I had such wonderful dreams for the future. So did Peg for that matter. None of our dreams came true!”

“Like myself you have risen in life,” the handsome Bart said. “We can be grateful for that. We should not know poverty for the rest of our lives. Unless the shipyard collapses.”

She eyed him sadly. “Has money bought you any more happiness than it has me?”

“I don’t care about money,” he said with disgust. “I like power! Power is all that counts! I have that now if I play the game right. And I have a son!”

“Yes. At least Vera was more generous with you than Mark has been with me. I’m quite alone.”

“You have my love,” he said.

“I wonder.”

“I would like to attend your sister’s funeral in the morning.”

She was startled. “Why?”

“I’d like to pay my respects, for your sake and for her. I knew many prostitutes along the docks. Most of them had good qualities.”

“So you’d pay homage to those earlier conquests by paying honor to my poor sister?”

“Yes, if you wish to see it that way.”

She hesitated, then said, “Trinity Church. The cemetery in the rear. Ten o’clock. If you’re not there, I will not be hurt. I don’t really expect you to attend.”

“Ten o’clock at Trinity churchyard,” he repeated after her. “I shall be there. Do try to rest tonight.”

“I doubt that I shall sleep.”

“Try,” he said. “You will need your strength to see you through tomorrow. Do you want me to take you to the cemetery?”

“No. I couldn’t risk that. I have a friend whom I’m meeting,” she said.

He nodded. “Then, goodnight!” he said awkwardly.

“Goodnight,” she said in a low voice and turned away.

When she looked around again he had vanished. And she found it hard to believe that the meeting between them had taken place, and that they had said the things she remembered them saying. So Bart Woods was in love with her? She supposed she should be pleased. But she was not in the mood for romantic thoughts. Yet she had turned to him in her despair, and he had not failed her. She should not forget that.

• • •

The morning was thick with fog and drizzle. And it was colder than it had been. She stood between Phineas Pennifeather and Luther Crown as the young clergyman read the Anglican burial service. It was simple, meaningful, and short. Mrs. Crown sobbed aloud on the other side of the grave, with little Jimmy Davis standing sorrowfully beside her on his crutches. The clergyman had come to the final words of the service when Bart came to stand by the grave. He respectfully removed his hat.

The clergyman came to Becky and said, “You must be thankful your sister is at rest. And when the stone is ready, let our sexton know; we will see that it is properly placed above her grave.”

She thanked him. When he left, she spent some minutes with the Crowns and little Jimmy. These three went on their way together after she’d promised she would keep in touch with them. There was now only Phineas Pennifeather and Bart Woods left at the cemetery, aside from the grave diggers busy filling in the grave.

Phineas and Bart had introduced themselves and were talking in quiet tones when she joined them after bidding the others goodbye.

She gave Bart a grateful look. “You did come.”

“I said I was going to,” he replied.

“I had no intention of holding you to it,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “You’ll be returning home in the company of Mr. Pennifeather?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Very well,” Bart said. “Then I shall see you later.”

“Yes, later,” she repeated, the finality of it all now striking her. She would never see Peg again. It was over. Just the grave and silence.

Bart said goodbye to Mr. Pennifeather and left. Then she and the private detective returned to her carriage. The old man continued to be sympathetic and helpful.

He told her, “You must not brood on this. Find some new interest. Keep busy. It is normal for you to sorrow for a time. After a while the grief will pass, though a touch of sadness about this will always remain with you. But it will be bearable.”

“I picked well when I sought you out to help me,” she said.

“You have always paid me my fee,” he said as the carriage rolled through the foggy streets. “I owed you my best.”

“And you have given it,” she said. “I shall always think of you as a friend.”

“I’m flattered,” the old man said. “And if you should ever need me again as a detective or as a friend, do not hesitate to come to me.”

“I shan’t,” she said, meaning it.

The rest of the day and night were an ordeal for her. She wandered about the house like a lost soul. Elizabeth always went up to bed early. And since his illness Mark also slept long and was never seen after dinner, His nurse occupied the room next to his and matched her sleeping time to that of her patient. So once the servants had retired to their quarters downstairs, Becky found herself alone in the big house.

She could not settle down but moved restlessly about. The fog was still thick. She went to the French Doors which overlooked the garden from the big living room, and saw that it was as gray and misty as ever. As she stood by the doors she saw someone outside in the drizzle. A moment later the figure came up to the patio, and she saw that it was Bart.

She opened one of the French Doors to let him enter. He stepped inside, his black hair damp from the mist. She said, “What were you doing out there?”

“Trying to get the nerve to come and speak with you.”

She said, “You needed no special preparation for that. You are welcome. I’m alone in the house. The rest are all asleep.”

The handsome Bart was wearing a fine blue frock coat and brown trousers and vest. He said, “How are you?”

“Not good.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“You want me to think you really care?” she said facing him, and speaking in a cynical fashion.

He frowned. “Must you always doubt me?”

“I know something of your past. How ruthless you are.”

“I had to be.”

“All cruel men say that,” she told him.

“Have you found me cruel?”

“No.”

“Then let us have an understanding. You take me as you find me, and I’ll do the same with you.”

She taunted him, “But you’re madly in love with me? Isn’t that bound to make you blind to my faults?”

“You think I’m lying,” he said.

“Well?”

“I’m not,” he said. “Whatever you wish to think.”

“I’d say you want my help in twisting my insane husband into helping you rebuild the shipyard.”

“I have a plan.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It will not involve you, except to keep silent. Or in the event of questioning, to tell a small lie.”

“I might have known.”

“Wait until I explain.”

“Go on,” she said.

“I have a paper here signed by Mark and giving me full authority to act for him.”

“How did you get that?”

“I forged his name to the agreement,” Bart said without any hint of apology.

She stared at him. “That sounds like you.”

“All that you have to do is agree it’s his signature if you are asked.”

“He is not well enough to sign his name. Elizabeth and the nurse know that.”

Bart said, “If they should question the document, you can tell them you often visit Mark’s room after they are asleep, that occasionally you make love with him and that he seems most alert in the after midnight hours. It was during one of these secret sessions in which you had him sign the agreement.”

“I marvel at you,” she said. “You think of everything.”

He said, “I do not expect you to be involved. I don’t think the bank will question Mark’s signature. They really want to go along with us. They stand to lose if we collapse, so it is in their interest to believe he has agreed to building iron ships.” He waved the paper. “This should save us all!” And he placed it in an inside pocket of his frock coat.

She sighed. “Since it will do nothing but good, I can’t very well oppose you.”

“Thank you, Becky,” he said with sudden warmth. “It may be that out of all this misery there will come a great happiness for us.”

Becky said, “After all that has happened I begin to question that there is any happiness in the world!”

Bart Woods was staring at her with great intensity. He said, “I love you, Becky, and I need you! And I believe you need someone like me!”

She stared up into his handsome face and saw that he was most earnest in what he’d said. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her with deep feeling. She did not know what she might have done under different circumstances, but in this moment when her spirits were at their lowest ebb she was hungry for love!

The warmth of being in his embrace helped ease the great ache she’d known since Peg’s death. She felt that Bart Woods knew her and understood her. And she also felt she could depend on him for protection. So she responded ardently to his kisses and clung to him.

In the next moment he lifted her up in his arms and carried her like a child up the stairs to the bedroom on the second floor which she had occupied for so long. He closed and locked the door of the room and then removed his frock coat and vest.

So they became lovers! As they lay side by side in her bed she found herself comparing the handsome Bart’s lovemaking with that of the other men she had known. Though not as meaningful as with her first love, Davy, nor as coldly brusque as the brief interludes she’d known with her husband, Mark, Bart offered her an unexpectedly gentle kind of lovemaking, which left no doubt that he truly cared for her.

Looking back, she would realize that the illicit passion between them made their otherwise difficult lives bearable. In the warmth of Bart’s love she was able to overcome her grief for Peg and the melancholy frustration of her ruined marriage to Mark. She found hereself in better spirits and had more tolerance for her ailing mate. And always she looked forward to those secret moments with Bart.