Chapter 19: Chapter 19

New York City

The view from his room in the New York Preparatory School was not nearly as appealing as the one in his study at home, which was actually quite helpful when it came time for Charlie to complete his assignments. Despite Walter’s constant invitations, he generally chose to stay indoors and do his work, even during the times when the young men were allowed to go outside and have a bit of fun in the yard. Today in particular, he was much more apt to stay inside and finish his history assignment. The temperature was near freezing and there was a thin layer of snow on the ground. However, Walter was persistent, and for some reason, Charlie decided that the only way he was ever going to stop Walter’s pestering was to finally give in and head outdoors, promising himself he’d only stay for a bit and would head back in as soon as he possibly could.

Though his school didn’t have a football team, one of the other young men was fond of the sport and always had a ball handy. Walter’s promise that Teddy was bringing the ball out today was about the only factor that had caused him to change his mind and join them. Nearly a dozen of his classmates were already out in the yard, bundled up with thick coats, gloves, scarfs, and hats to keep out the cold.

“Hey, look who it is!” Teddy yelled as they approached.

“Well, if it isn’t Charles Ashton himself!” another boy, Reginald, hollered.

“I want Charlie on my team,” came another voice. Though he was difficult to recognize behind the scarf, Charlie realized it had been Tim who had yelled out for him, and despite a bit of a kerfuffle with Teddy, Charlie soon found himself standing alongside Tim with Walter, Reginald, and a few other chaps.

“All right, Charlie,” Tim was saying, “You’re the fastest. I want you to go long, and I will throw it to you, right down the middle. All right?”

“What about me?” Walter asked before Charlie could even respond.

“You just make sure Charlie gets open,” Tim, a lankier boy who was nearly seventeen, insisted.

Though Walter didn’t seem to like that answer, he nodded, and the boys went to the line to start the play. Tim shouted a few numbers and then, “Hut! Hut!” and Charlie took off running. He easily skirted past Teddy, past the other boys as well, and then turned back to see if Tim had thrown the ball. He spied it over his right shoulder and brought it down, running until he’d passed the line Teddy had drawn in the snow to show the end zone.

His team cheered while the others groaned, and then Charlie was on defense and lined up to try to protect the other team from scoring.

The game went on for about twenty minutes, Charlie scoring once more and catching an interception. He was having such fun; he’d hardly thought about his studies at all. Tim sent him out for one more long pass. This time, Teddy seemed to know what he was about and attempted to sneak in and get the ball before Charlie could do so. In an attempt to outplay him, Charlie reached his hand out and knocked the ball up into the air. It teetered on his fingertips for a moment before bouncing up again. Teddy got a hand on it but only knocked it free once more. Charlie was certain he could rein it in this time. Just as he stretched his arm up to grab it, another hand shot out of nowhere and plucked it from the sky.

“I’ve got it!” a high pitched voice shouted, and Charlie turned to see a young lady running with the ball toward the elected end zone.

Teddy and Charlie stared at each other for a moment, absolutely dumbfounded, before they turned to see her run past the line and then raise the ball in the air, cheering.

Once Charlie had regained his composure enough to have a look around, he realized Mr. Founder, one of the instructors, and what appeared to be a potential scholar and his family, stood on the walkway a few steps behind where the girl had apparently come from.

“Stella!” the father shouted in a stern voice. “Put that down and get over here this instant!”

Stella, whose enthusiasm only seemed slightly abated, dropped her hands, cleared her throat, and then, taking a few steps in his direction, extended the ball. “Beg your pardon,” she said, her green eyes twinkling. “I believe this was intended for you.”

Charlie had never seen a lovelier face. Her skin looked so soft and smooth—it was as if it were made of porcelain. She had long dark eyelashes that matched the tufts of hair that peeked out from beneath her red winter hat. She must have been about his age, he was certain, and when his hand grazed hers, though it was surrounded by a thick, red mitten, he couldn’t help but feel as if a pulse of energy radiated from her fingers through his entire body.

“Th—thank you,” he stammered, his eyes wide.

She smiled, showing perfectly white, dazzling teeth, and then turned around to rejoin her family, who, despite the admonishment, didn’t seem quite as put out as many parents he knew might have been.

Mr. Founder continued with his tour, and the family disappeared into a nearby building shortly thereafter. It was only then that the group of gaping boys were able to voice their amazement at seeing such a young woman, there in their midst.

“Who was she?” Teddy finally got out.

“An angel,” Tim answered, standing next to the ball-owner.

“The devil!” Walter murmured, though his eyes were like saucers.

Charlie said nothing, but for the first time in as long as he could remember, he was no longer concerned about Mary Margaret Westmoreland and her inability to write letters.

***

Southampton

“The curtains need to be cleaned,” Mildred Westmoreland instructed as she walked through the parlor, Tessa and a new girl, Sarah, close behind her. “Take them all down, take them outside, and beat them until the dust is all gone. Do you understand?”

“Yes, madam,” Tessa replied with a nod.

“How do we get them down?” Sarah asked, but a sharp elbow from Tessa silenced her, and if Mrs. Westmoreland had heard, the question was ignored.

“This floor is never clean anymore. Sarah, if you must get down and scrub it, then do so,” the mistress of the house continued. “I’m tired of having ladies over for tea only to see them grimace at the floorboards.”

“Yes, madam,” Sarah answered, learning her lesson from the last time.

“When you are finished with that, come and check with me. I have a few other oddities that need to be attended to. I believe what’s-her-name….”

“Blanche,” Sarah offered.

“Yes, that’s it—Blanche—is still working upstairs. Please tell her to keep a better eye on her daughter. I don’t mind you two having your children stay here with you, but they must not run amuck! I wouldn’t allow my own daughter to do so, and I won’t allow yours either.”

“I believe Jessica is outside,” Sarah said, clearly a bit offended.

“Yes, madam,” Tessa stated, elbowing Sarah again.

“And where did you put the post?” Mildred asked scanning the room.

“Over here, on the desk,” Sarah stated as she walked over to where she’d placed the few envelopes earlier that day. “Except for the one that was marked for Miss Mary Margaret. I put that in her room.”

Though Mildred had snatched up the mail and was looking through it, at those last few words, she froze. Tessa gasped and took a step backward as Mildred turned to face the ruddy faced Sarah who was beginning to turn even more red. “You did what?” Mrs. Westmoreland asked.

But before Sarah could manage an answer, a voice from behind the mistress shouted out, “Who is Charles J. Ashton, Mother?” and she turned to find her daughter staring at her, a letter clutched in her fist.

“Mary Margaret,” Mildred turned to face her, taking a deep breath and attempting to calm herself. “That letter was not meant for you.”

“It is addressed to me,” Meg continued as she walked forward, “and by the language used, I’m assuming it is not the first such letter this American boy has sent me. Who is he, and why does he seem to think we have a future together?”

Meg was mad—clearly her mother and uncle had been keeping something from her, something important, and despite the possibility of finding herself stretched out on the floor again at her mother’s hand, she was not about to let this go. She stood defiant with the letter in front of her, hopeful the tone in her voice would let her mother know just how angry she was at this betrayal.

“I’m so sorry, madam,” Ms. Cunningham, Meg’s new governess of a few months, said as she scurried up next to the thirteen-year-old. “We took a break in our studies, and she found the letter. I didn’t know what it was until after she’d opened it….”

“Go back upstairs, Ms. Cunningham,” Mildred said sternly.

“Yes, madam,” the young lady replied, nodding and taking off as quickly as possible without running. “Sarah—go to your chambers as well. I shall talk to Mr. Westmoreland about this when he returns. This may mean removal for you, you incompetent fool!”

Sarah said nothing, only nodded and rushed off toward the back of the house and the servant’s stairwell. This left Tessa standing awkwardly behind her mistress, and with a jab in the direction of the kitchen with her pointer finger, Mildred sent her away also.

“I’m waiting, Mother,” Meg said, dropping the letter down by her side and attempting to regain her composure. This was the first time in her life she’d ever had the upper hand with her mother, and if she wasn’t careful, she was liable to have it turned back around on her.

“Mary Margaret, it’s nothing, really.” Mildred gestured toward the chairs across the room near the fireplace hearth, the one she’d had for years, and her uncle’s, which had replaced her father’s some time ago. “Let us sit down and have a discussion like two adult women.”

Meg couldn’t help but feel as if she were being baited, but she nodded and cautiously walked across the room, choosing to sit in her mother’s chair rather than her uncle’s. The thought of touching something so intimate to him made her shiver.

Mildred’s eyebrow arched at Meg’s choice but she said nothing about the chairs. “May I see the letter, please?” she asked with a forced smile.

While she had only read it twice and could make little sense of it, there was something about having the letter in her hand that made Meg feel powerful. It seemed like releasing that to her mother would also relinquish the strength she had accumulated these last few minutes. When her mother repeated the word, “please,” Meg extended the letter for her to take, though her fingers didn’t quite want to unclench it and it took her mother a bit of effort to get it free without tearing it.

Mildred looked the letter up and down just once before she handed it back to her daughter. “It’s a lovely letter, Mary Margaret. From a nice boy. From a nice family.”

“Who is he?” Meg asked, her teeth grinding in frustration.

“Surely you’ve heard of John Ashton?” Mildred asked, her expression one of boredom. “He’s a millionaire who lives in New York City. Charles is his son.”

Meg wasn’t sure if she’d ever heard of John Ashton or not. She tried to stay out of the society papers, which also meant never reading them. Occasionally, one of her friends would make mention of something she read in one of them over tea or at a get-together, but Meg was never interested in what other people thought about her and knew most of what those types of people had to say was frivolous and of little consequence. “Why is Charles Ashton writing me, Mother?”