The Last Honest Seamstress (36 page)

"Briggs didn't need me anymore."

She looked away from him, hurt that he hadn't said something more romantic and reassuring. The words
all business
described him too well. What had she done to him? Nothing made sense anymore. Not Coral's morose mood, or Drew wanting her to run away, or the Captain's cool manner, not even her own emotions. She wanted Con, yet she feared he would be her ruin. She changed the subject rather than confront the situation. "How is O'Neill's Shipping?"

"It's fine."

"Is it?" She stared at him, wondering whether he was lying to her, too.

He studied her. "You sound worried."

If he wasn't going to confide in her, there was little point in discussing it. But she couldn't let it rest. "I'd check with Mr. Tetch. I handed things over to him after having trouble with some of your bills. I've tried a few times since, but I couldn't make sense of your ledgers."

He looked suddenly alert. "Nor should you have to. I'll talk to Tetch immediately." He rose to leave.

She softened. "You'll be back for dinner? We'll have a celebration. I can't wait to see Coral's expression when she sees your naked chin."

He gave her a halfhearted smile. "I can't wait myself. I'll be back." He nodded and rose to leave.

That night Con sat on his bed and stripped off his boots, dumping them onto the floor unceremoniously. Invited by Coral, Drew had come to dinner. How Con had suffered through it he didn't know. Confident, comfortable, jovial, Drew had acted as if he belonged with Fayth. Did he? Con ran his fingers back through his hair.

He hated that bastard Drew. Con leaned back against his pillows. Neither Fayth nor Drew mentioned that they were formerly engaged, which meant they schemed to keep it from him. Why? Was it innocence? Did Fayth fear his wrath, or his hurt? Or was there a more sinister reason? He hated even to think it, but what if Fayth still loved Drew?

He grabbed the glass from his night table and rummaged through his seabag for the Scotch he'd brought back for Bailey. Repressing anger always made him thirsty. He opened it and tossed back a drink, haunted by memories of his last evening with Fayth. If Billy had arrived just ten minutes later, she would be his. Just ten minutes. He took another gulp of whiskey. The brink of paradise, every remembrance of it brought a hard arousal.

Olive meowed at the door begging to be let in. He ignored her. He needed solitude. He needed to think. How long had Drew been in Seattle?
 

Long enough to establish himself with Fayth again. Long enough to restore her trust in him and elicit her sympathy—the charming snake. How had he done it?
 

"Damn!" He hated being put in the position of playing catch up.
 

This homecoming wasn't what he'd pictured. He hadn't planned to sleep in this bedroom again—not alone. Ugly, jealous thoughts crept through his mind, tormenting thoughts of Drew and Fayth together. He didn't believe she had been unfaithful with her body. He observed her closely throughout the evening, and saw no evidence of that kind of guilt in her actions. Drew looked clearly frustrated, like a man in need. She hadn't been unfaithful in body, but in spirit and mind? An ugly chill shivered through him. Lust was one thing. It could be overcome. But a heart engaged elsewhere?

He preferred not to think about it.

And what went on with Coral? The girl looked peaked, and queasy. She had barely touched her meal, looked green at the thought. Was she ill? Was he the only one who had noticed? He'd check on her tomorrow. And the infatuated looks she gave Drew? Trouble. But the man had barely noticed her. He had focused on Fayth.

A door opened in the hall. Someone scooped up Olive and carried her away as she mewed. He leaned back again and set the glass on the table by his bed. The alcohol settled over his senses bringing with it a temporary calm. He should have confessed his love for Fayth long ago. He sneered derisively at himself. He disliked dishonesty in others, hated it in himself.

He took a deep breath and pushed the bottle of Scotch away. He needed a clear head. He had fights on two fronts with stakes too high to lose. What had gone on during his absence? Fayth was worried about the business, almost resentful of his absence, and the money he made. During dinner she mentioned how hard it had been to pay rent and meet expenses, eyeing him as if he were to blame.
 

He had sent plenty of money, more than he should have. For all his faults, he wasn't a stingy man. Were her standards different from his? Or was Tetch getting bolder with his pinching from the till? Tetch no doubt pilfered money in Con's absence, but would he be so bold? Tetch would have to be more clever than Con gave him credit for to hide such avarice. The only alternative was that Fayth had a different standard of generosity than he did. He shook his head. Nothing made sense, not even the business. The bills were paid, the books looked normal, but he couldn't help feeling imminent disaster coming.

On the other front, he'd been forced to watch Drew's gaze rake over Fayth all evening, to swallow his words as Drew goaded. Drew wanted his wife. Con had no intention of letting her go, but what should he do now?

He took another breath to calm himself. Fayth was the only woman Con had ever loved. He wouldn't let Drew have her. He had to find a way to get rid of Drew. Would shanghai be a bad thing?

Fayth leaned against the closed door. She heard Con turn in the hall and walk toward his room, then his door banged shut. She hung her head, guilt engulfing her. The evening had been a long, personal game of charades. She walked toward her bed, unbuttoning her bodice with trembling fingers.

She hadn't counted on the pull she felt toward Con, or his returning coldness. Without his beard, with his hair so stylishly trimmed, he was more handsome than Drew. If only she could decide, could know Con was true, know he loved her. If only she could feel secure again. But she felt herself flailing and grasping wildly for security, as desperate as if it were air itself. She threw her dress over the chair and pulled her nightgown on.

Con had the power to drag her down with him. If his business failed, if he was somehow involved with Lou—

She shivered at the thought. If he loved her, if he didn't . . .

Which was worse? Which did she fear most?

Coral paced the floor wildly. Dr. Wall had been kindly, but definite, confirming her suspicions. She would have a baby, Drew's baby. She'd been careless. When she worked for Lou, she'd been careful to use the small doses of opium always discreetly available for the girls. Never enough to become addicted. She'd seen the sad effects of that, but enough to stop her monthlies. Used in proper doses, opium was effective in preventing pregnancies. But she had given up the habit when she had come to stay with Fayth.

She had to think. She had to leave. She couldn't keep living with Fayth. She felt traitorous enough as it was. If she stayed, Fayth would certainly realize the truth soon enough. She already acted suspicious.
 

Coral smiled. She would have to see Drew. He loved her. He would marry her. She didn't want Fayth hurt, but there was no alternative now. What was, was. Now that Con was home, he'd take care of Fayth. What good timing that he had come home unexpectedly yesterday. Coral was tempted to tell him her news, but, of course, she couldn't. She noticed Con watching her last night at dinner, a worried look on his face. He suspected something, maybe thought she was ill. Oh, well, he'd find out soon enough, too.

She bit her lip and smiled again, slowing her pacing long enough to glance out the bedroom window. It would all be for the best. Without her to worry about and intrude on their privacy, Fayth would have to see Con's devotion. Maybe then Fayth would finally admit that she loved the Captain. When Fayth recovered from the shock and realized her own happiness, she'd forgive Coral. With that glorious, happy thought in mind, Coral grabbed her shawl and headed for the door, a bounce in her step. She would tell Drew immediately. She hurried to his hotel.

"Well, I seem to be quite the virile buck," Drew said when she gave him her news. They were not the words she expected, but he didn't sound unhappy. "You're certain I'm the father?"

She nodded. He didn't speak, just sat a moment in silent contemplation. Her heart pounded.
 

"At present, I don't have any money. Fayth has been my means of support. Maybe I can put it to her for a loan. But I'll have to think of a lie. She can't know of this. You haven't told her?" He spoke sharply. He seemed too worried over Fayth's knowledge of the event.

"Certainly not. She knows nothing of it, or us."

He smiled. "And indeed she shouldn't. I don't want Fayth hurt. I'll get you the money, I promise, as soon as possible. We can't let this go on long. It's too dangerous."

"Drew? What are you saying?"

"Surely a woman of your occupation knows what I'm saying—rid yourself of the baby. See an abortionist."

"No!" She couldn't help herself, she started crying. She'd beg if she had to. "I'm not a whore anymore. Drew, I love you. This is not like when I worked at the house. You must marry me!"

He looked at her with an odd mixture of indifference and sympathy. "Poor, naive girl. You misunderstood my motives from the beginning. You're beautiful and spirited, and a very good lay, but that's it.
 

“If you were an innocent, or the first girl I'd gotten in this condition, I might be tempted to oblige you, but having been here before, I can assure you it's not worth the trouble. Unfortunately for you, I've been burned once and that's all it took to cure me of all honorable intentions."

His words made no sense. He loved her. He'd made love to her, whispered tender things. And she loved him. "I'm afraid of having an abortion. Girls die. You've got to marry me!"

Drew seemed to lose his patience. He snorted. "You can't believe I would marry a whore?"

His words stung.
 

"Bastard!" She lunged at him, fingers curled into a claw. He intercepted her swipe and restrained her as she struggled. "I thought I meant something to you!"

"You did, dear. As I said, you were a very good lay—the best."

She struggled futilely against him. "I'll tell Fayth—"

"You won't. You don't have the strength to lose her friendship. Without her, you're nothing."

She stopped struggling. Drew was just like all the other underhanded men she knew. Blackmail was the best way to defeat him. "I'll tell the Captain."

"Tell him, by all means. What do you think his reaction will be? He'd be a weak fool if he didn't throw you out of his house. You're an immoral influence on his wife. Then what would he do? Come after me? I would deny it, you know that."

Coral tried to hide her fear, but knew he sensed it, because he released her and smiled patronizingly. "Come around and see me day after tomorrow. I'll have the money by then."

Fayth came into the house through the kitchen. She shouldn't have closed the shop early, but with her feelings about the Captain and the animosity between him and Drew, and her worry about Coral going home sick, she couldn't concentrate on business. Earlier in the morning before she left for work, Con had insisted she give Drew the day off. They had fought. He had no right to dictate what she did with her business, but she capitulated to gain an uneasy truce. Con acted jealous, but that made no sense. He couldn't know who Drew was, and she hadn't flirted with him in the slightest. The Captain acted cold and distant to her in every other way. It broke her heart, but what could she do?

She sighed. Without Drew, there wasn't much she could do but close. What was she going to do about Drew and the Captain? Fayth unpinned her hat and went to hang it on the hat rack, too tired to think. Coral sat on her packed bags in the entry. At the sight of her, Fayth's spirits plummeted to a new low.

"Coral? Are you going somewhere?"

A tear slid down Coral's cheek. She dabbed at it with a handkerchief. "I can't stay and ruin your business any longer." Her defiant tone was at direct odds with her sentimental expression.
 

Fayth frowned. "What?"

Coral silently handed her the day's newspaper folded open to a story.

It is rumored that a young woman, well-known for her easy virtue, is still under the employ of one of our town's favorite young seamstresses, Mrs. O'Neill. Mrs. O'Neill's defenders, the Ladies' Christian Committee members and other sympathizers, applaud Mrs. O'Neill for her attempts to rescue one so young from the evil clutches of such a sinful life. Her detractors, however, deny that such a thing can be accomplished. Moreover, since the young woman resides with Mrs. O'Neill, and since the lady's husband, Captain O'Neill, is frequently at sea, they fear the evil influence her presence will have over the young businesswoman.

A source, who asked not to be identified, acknowledged seeing unescorted men come and go from Mrs. O'Neill's home. This is no reflection on Mrs. O'Neill, who was not at home during any of the visits. Moreover
,
the source fears that Mrs. O'Neill, despite her good intentions, is being played the fool. . . .

Fayth snapped the paper shut without reading further and handed it back to Coral. "Garbage! Utter and total garbage! Nothing much different from what they've printed before. Don’t let it upset you."