The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel (24 page)

“You’ll not lay a hand on her.”

Oscar sneered. “Stay out of this. I’ve only had a misunderstanding with Nell. Nothing that concerns you.”

Nell glared at him. “I meant what I said. It’s over, Oscar. I no longer work for you. And unless I receive every penny you owe me, including a bonus for the Soren Michaels’s show, plus an additional month’s salary, I will go to the newspaper and tell them you assaulted me in your office.”

“I didn’t assault you.”

“I have a bruise on my arm to show that you did.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

“They will never believe you over me. I have a stellar reputation. You’re a nobody.”

“I guess it’s a risk you have to take. Think about it, Oscar. Once it’s in print, people remember what they first read.”

He lunged forward, his face inches from hers. “I will not stand by and let you ruin me.”

“You’ve ruined yourself.”

“You’ll never get a recommendation from me, and in case you’ve forgotten, I own every one of your designs.”

“I’ve not forgotten a thing. You’ve reminded me often enough. And your recommendation wouldn’t be worth the paper it’s written on. I am sorry for you. Sorry that—”

“Save it for the funny papers.” He reached for her, but Felice stepped out of the diner door at that moment.

“Nell? Are you in trouble?” Over her shoulder she called back into the diner for Angelo to call the police.

Nell said the police wouldn’t be necessary, that Oscar was leaving. The cab still stood at the curb and Nell motioned for the driver. “I believe someone needs a ride.”

She hooked her hand in the crook of Calvin’s arm and ducked into the diner with Felice, where Jeanette sat at a table waiting.

“So what will you do now?” Jeanette asked.

“I’m going home. Home to Kentucky for now. I need time with my family. Then I’m going to pray for God’s leading for the next step. Something I should have done a long time ago.”

Felice said, “You’re not going anywhere without a party. Tomorrow night, is that okay? We will have big time to eat and laugh and cry.” She nodded to Jeanette. “You invite the people. Angelo will make the gnocchi.”

No one argued with Felice Salvatore.

On Monday, Nell called Mrs. Benchley and asked to see her. She’d heard Oscar’s version of their relationship and was curious to hear Mrs. Benchley’s.

They met in the dining room of the Algonquin Hotel for a late afternoon tea, and when Mrs. Benchley arrived, she kissed Nell on the cheek as she so often did.

Nell thanked her for coming as they took their places.

Mrs. Benchley let out a long sigh and pulled off her gloves. “You must think I’m horrid. And I can’t blame you.”

“We all make bad judgments, and it’s probably none of my affair to ask about your arrangement with Oscar.”

“Is that what he called it? An arrangement?” A gray pallor marked the older woman’s sagging cheeks.

Nell nodded, not wanting to push, but after they’d ordered finger sandwiches and tea, Mrs. Benchley folded her hands and spoke. “When I was your age, I never dreamed I would do such a thing, lower myself in such a manner. It all started innocently enough. A friend of my mother’s told me her son was employed at a millinery salon and I might find something suitable for a fancy dress party my husband Porter and I were invited to.”

“Oscar’s mother knew your mother?”

“No, Harjo Pritchard’s mother. She was quite anxious that her son do well in the new venture they had financed for him.”

“As a secretary?”

“That, too. The Pritchards were quite flush with money and heard about the salon, that it was near financial ruin but in a prime location. Oscar had just inherited the failing business from his father and jumped at the chance to have a partner who could get him and the shop back on its feet. Harjo is half owner—a silent partner, at least in the public eye. Being Oscar’s secretary allows him ready access to everything Oscar says and does. I didn’t know all of this, of course, until later. By then, I’d visited the shop and found Oscar to be quite charming and accommodating. I made several purchases, and one day, Oscar asked if I would go to lunch.

“Porter was gone from home frequently, and when he was home, he spent all his time working and building his empire. Oscar became my diversion. Like I said, it wasn’t something I ever set out to do. Then one day, he confided in me that Harjo was putting pressure on him to marry Anna. She was their best designer and was looking for work elsewhere. All he’s ever wanted was to preserve his dad’s good name, and they needed Anna’s talent to keep the company afloat.”

Nell let out a long breath, not knowing whether Mrs. Benchley was trying to make Oscar look good to excuse her own actions or if she was telling the truth.

“Did he love Anna?”

“On some level I think he did. I tried to back away from the situation and let him find happiness with her—she was his wife and deserved that much at least—but he came to me one day and asked for a loan, said his income had been cut during the wartime slump and he couldn’t pay the rent on his and Anna’s flat. Foolishly I gave it to him, and it set a precedent that I regret. Then Anna died, and, well…”

Nell’s skin prickled with disgust for Oscar while her chest ached with pity for him at the same time. A lot of what Mrs. Benchley said made sense. How Harjo kept tabs on her, following her in London and then when she and Oscar returned. But Oscar’s actions were inexcusable, and Nell couldn’t justify either his or Mrs. Benchley’s behavior.

One question burned within, though. “What about your daughters? Your husband? Are they aware?”

“I’ve not told them, although I’m sure they have suspicions. And the girls will have questions about why you left. They love your hats and will miss you terribly. Claudia blossomed under your loving touch, you know.”

“She was a beauty all the time. I just helped her find it.”

“I’m grateful for that, and I’m toying with telling them about Oscar, about our arrangement—” She took a sip of tea and cocked her head. “Is that really what he called it?”

“It sounds better than affair.”

Her voice caught. “Neither conjures up an image I’m proud of.”

“Do you have feelings for him?”

Mrs. Benchley’s eyes widened. “Not in a romantic sense, no. While he’s young and dapper, he’s also cunning and has made idle remarks on occasion of how he would sully my name if I didn’t help him out.” She sighed. “It’s hard to explain—with Oscar, I always felt special…”

Images of the gowns and beautiful coats Oscar had given Nell drifted in and out. His compliments and attempts at chivalry. Yes, Oscar could be quite agreeable if it suited him. “I’m in no position to judge you, but after my own experience and hearing you today, it seems that Oscar used you for his own vanity and personal gain. Perhaps not in the same way he did Anna and me, but without regard for your personal worth.”

Mrs. Benchley blotted the corner of her eye, her words thick when she said, “You’ve no idea how my stomach turns with knowledge that I’ve traded fleeting moments of feeling lovely in Oscar’s arms with the glaring truth of my own wanton actions.”

“But you are lovely—one of the most beautiful women I know. And no matter what you think, it’s never too late for a fresh start.”

Mrs. Benchley worked the linen napkin in her fingers, her eyes downcast. When she looked up, the merest of smiles graced her lips. “I can only try.”

“I’ll pray for you. And thank you for being frank with me. You’ve been a wonderful friend.”

“As have you.” Mrs. Benchley sat up taller, her face not so sallow. “Do you need a recommendation for another position?”

Nell shook her head. “I’m going home to Kentucky.”
Home.
It had a warm biscuits and honey sound.

“I’ve always wanted to go to the Kentucky Derby.”

“You’re welcome anytime. The derby’s always the first Saturday in May.”

They walked out of the Algonquin and went their separate ways, each of them with an uncertain future, but the air cleared between them. Nell’s steps were light as she raced toward the cheerful clang of the trolley.

Nell and her mother strolled arm in arm through the rose garden, Mama stooping now and then to pick off a blighted leaf. They talked as they’d done every day for two weeks about what had happened at Greystone Hall, the complicated joys and regrets with Oscar Fields, and Mrs. Benchley’s confession. At times it all felt unreal, as if the three years in New York were one long dream with the occasional nightmare. Her decision to move permanently back to Kentucky was the right one, Nell was certain of that. And she was even able to finally tell her mother about Quentin, the wonder of seeing him again in London, the knife that sliced through her when she’d found out he was engaged.

“You never forget your first love. Your father was mine, and even though I love Granville with all my being, Richard Marchwold will never be more than a moment’s thought away.”

“I know how you grieved.”

“The Lord blessed me with Caroline. She’s so much like your father. Her laugh. Her insatiable love of the water. She’s already drawing pictures of sailboats and loves to go down to the Ohio River and watched them raise the bridge when the boats pass under.”

“I know. I heard her pestering Granville last night, asking him to take her.”

“You’ll be blessed with love one day, my dear. Trust me.”

Nell didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she could ever give her heart fully to someone and risk breaking it again. She was listening for God’s voice, though, and willing now to heed his answer.

When they stopped and rested on a garden bench, Mama said, “Do you miss it?”

“New York? Sometimes. I miss Jeanette and regret that I didn’t get to say good-bye to Greta. I keep hoping her vaudeville show will stop in Louisville. And I miss Felice. In fact, I’ve developed the most horrid craving for Angelo’s gnocchi.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Nell knew what her mother meant. The hats. She sighed.

“I’ve always had my roses, wherever I went. It’s what I dream of at night and what has pulled me through many dark days. Some things we’re meant to do.”

“I’ve had an idea. Mittie’s coming by in her new roadster, and we’re going to see if the room over on Bardstown where I made the derby hats is still available. I’ll start small, take it slow, and see what happens.”

“I know the man who owns the building. You want me to give him a call?”

“No, this is something I have to do on my own.”

Orianna, the housekeeper, stepped out from the veranda. “Say Miz Evangeline, telegram just came.” She waved the tan envelope, and Nell’s mother met her halfway across the garden. Mama read it with a frown, putting her fist to her mouth, then rushed to Nell.

“Lady Mira. She’s gone.”

Jane Alistair had wired that Lady Mira passed peacefully from this earth in her sleep and would be laid to rest beside her beloved Nigel. But a sentence at the end left Nell and her mother looking at one another in puzzlement.

The official word came a week later. Unknown to any of them, Lady Mira had modest holdings from her parents before her, most of which had been converted into cash and held by a solicitor in York, which was now bequeathed to Nell and her sister Caroline. Her house in Heathdown reverted to Preston, the possessions to be divided among Lady’s Mira’s four grandchildren, and a onetime benevolence given to each of her three faithful servants: Jane Alistair, Davenport, and Zilla Hatch.

It was recommended that an American solicitor handle the details of transfer, a process that could take sixty to ninety days.

It was a windfall Nell didn’t expect, at a price that weighed heavily on her heart. She would never look into her grandmother’s clear blue eyes again or touch her soft cheeks, but as she strolled in the garden a few days later, she felt her grandmother’s presence. As clear as if they were in the same room, Nell thought she could hear the laughter of two childhood friends—Mira and Josie—together at last on the heavenly shore.

Nell signed a lease on the building in Louisville where she first made hats and took out a small loan to carry her until her grandmother’s inheritance arrived.

On a bright, sunny day in late August, Nell sat by the window and worked the flexible buckram over the block, already envisioning the sky-blue felt she would apply over the foundation. A sketch of a nightingale was propped up against the bottle of sizing, and her fingers itched to embroider the tiny bird that would grace the hat.

Outside the window, a pair of workmen were hanging the new sign on wrought iron brackets. One of them stuck his head in the door. “Miss Marchwold. Can you come and have a look?”

She stood on the sidewalk and craned her neck, excitement skimming along her bones.

“It’s perfect,” she hollered to the one on the ladder.

“I couldn’t agree more.” The voice came from behind her, and Nell thought for a moment she’d imagined it. She whirled around and came face-to-face with Quentin Bledsoe, a wide grin parting his lips.

“Quentin? What—? How did you find me? What are you doing here?”

“Which question do you want me to answer first?”

“Both, but you scared me half out of my wits. And you didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“It was a little difficult to find out exactly where you were, if you must know. Your friends in New York said you’d gone home to Kentucky. The only address I had was for your aunt’s farm. I hired a driver to take me there when I arrived in Louisville, only to discover that you were back here all along.”

He opened his arms and drew Nell into them, kissing the top of her head.

“Excuse me.” One of the sign hangers tapped her on the shoulder. “I don’t mean to interrupt, ma’am, but we’re done here.”

Nell’s face flushed. “Yes. Okay. It’s perfect, like I said. Shall I write you a check?”

“No, ma’am. We’ll send you a bill. Thanks for the business.”

“Thank you.”

She turned back to Quentin. “Where were we?” Her heart pounded with a thousand questions, but the one foremost she blurted out. “You’ve come this far on your honeymoon? Where’s Colleen?”

Quentin’s shoulders sagged. “I have a lot to tell you.”

“Then come inside, and I’ll put the kettle on. Unless you’d like a lemonade. For that you’ll have to wait while I run two doors down to the drugstore and get you one from the soda fountain.”

“Tea’s fine. Or nothing. Just seeing you is all I need right now.”

Nell drank in the blue of his eyes, the freckles she’d memorized a lifetime ago, the fullness of his lips and waited to hear what he had to say.

“My soul-searching led me to the realization that I’d been premature in my commitment to Colleen, and when I gathered the nerve to break it off with her, she was relieved. She wasn’t keen on being married to a clergyman.”

“And now?” She chewed her bottom lip and closed her eyes, hoping for the answer she didn’t believe she would ever hear, afraid her heart would crack if it wasn’t.

“It was you I wanted all along. Like my choice of career, I was just too stubborn to hear God’s voice. I know it’s sudden and we’ll need time, but I really want to make a fresh start and see where it leads.”

“Yes” was the only syllable she could manage.

That grin again. The one that had stolen her twelve-year-old heart. Her stomach did a strange fox-trot.
Wherever you lead, I’ll go.
She held her breath, afraid of breaking Mama’s heart all over again if Quentin asked her to move to London. “How? Where?”

He moved closer and drew her into his arms, gently cupping her chin in his fingers. “I’m looking for a divinity school in America. I’m not sure how long it will take, but I know without a doubt that I’m to be here. In the States. With you.” His lips found hers, caressing them with tenderness.

Her heart rose to her throat as she kissed him back and whispered, “I love you, Quentin Bledsoe. I always have.”

It was the song of her heart.