5. Estelle

5

Estelle

" W hat am I supposed to do all day?" I asked Penelope as she put the finishing touches on my hair. "This is ridiculous. Not being able to go out, hiding in here like a mole."

"You have your books," Penelope said.

Charlie, lying at me feet, lifted his head but then seemed to think better of getting involved and plopped his chin over his paws and closed his eyes. "I want to go to work with Mrs. Bancroft like I did before." Before Simon Price ruined everything.

"I know. But for now it's most important that you stay safe."

No sooner had I finished my breakfast than a knock on the front door drew my attention. From my position in the dining room, I heard Penelope walk across the floor to answer the door. Percival had insisted we have a guard during the day as well. Surely he would keep us safe?

Although it was Benny's day off. Had he remembered to inform the other doorman about my situation?

Curious and a little afraid, I went out to see for myself who it was. The sight standing in the foyer, giving his coat and hat to Penelope, weakened my knees and caused my legs to tremble.

My father.

I peeked around him to see the bodyguard. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Wainwright. He said he was your father."

"That's correct. He is."

"Estelle." Father nodded as if he'd only just seen me yesterday.

"What are you doing here? How did you find me?" And why now instead of when I needed money?

"May we speak?" He seemed strangely subdued, less bombastic. Certainly, less angry than the last time I'd seen him.

"Yes, come inside. We can talk near the fire where it's warm." I led him into the sitting room. "Penelope, would you please bring us tea?"

"I'd prefer coffee if you have it," Father said. "Your mother and her blasted tea all the livelong day."

"Right away, sir." Penelope hurried away, leaving us alone.

I sat, arranging my skirt to hide my nervousness. "What can I do for you?"

"I've come on behalf of your mother. She wants to know where Mauve and Pierre are living. We have searched for them unsuccessfully."

I twisted my fingers together, preparing to lie. "I don't know. When I left them, Pierre and I agreed it would be better for the baby if I was no longer around. I assumed they were going home to you and Mother." All lies. They had gone to live on Pierre's uncle's vineyard somewhere in the Bordeaux region of France. He'd not told me the exact location or his uncle's last name, but I had the address.

"You've been in the city since then?" Father asked. "Since you gave birth?"

"That's correct. I thought you knew where I was."

"It took a little time, I must admit." He glanced around the opulent room. "Dr. Bancroft treats his mistresses well."

"I'm not his mistress. He's a friend who took pity on me."

He didn't say anything, looking at me with piercing blue eyes. His face had grown jowly, and his skin seemed redder than last I saw him.

"How much do you know about what's happened to me since I left Pierre and Mauve?"

"I know the Bancrofts took you in. Why was unclear. Then we discovered you were no longer there, and I lost you for a time. This is a large city. But Miss Scarlet was kind enough to tell me of your whereabouts."

Right. I should have figured she'd do anything for the likes of my father. He and men like him were her bread and butter, after all.

"Are you aware of the relationship between our two families?" Father asked.

"I am now. I was not aware until recently of what and who you really are." Anger surged, making me brave. "Now I know it all. Including that, you had Dr. Bancroft's father-in-law killed."

"What do you think you know about me?" Father crossed one leg over the other, the fine material of his pants falling right back into place.

"Pierre told me of the nature of your businesses. He also told me you had Constantine killed."

"Why would I do such a thing?" The corners of his mouth twitched, lifting his mustache.

He didn't deny the accusation, only circumvented it with another question.

"I've no idea why you'd do any of the things you've done. But Pierre told me Constantine seemed like a threat to you, and you had him killed. You murdered the man I loved."

"How was I to know you were with child?"

I gaped at him, too shocked to speak for a second or two. "Would that have mattered?"

"Probably not." His gaze moved to Penelope, who brought in a tray of coffee and scones. She put everything on the table that separated Father and me. Although it was mere feet, the gap between us might as well have spanned the Atlantic Ocean from here to France.

"Shall I pour you a cup, sir?" Penelope asked.

"Please. A dash of cream too, if you will," Father said.

How was he so calm? Acting as if he weren't a murderer? I was such a tangle of nerves I wanted to step outside of my own skin for relief.

"Thank you, Penelope," I said after she had fixed Father his coffee.

"Will there be anything else, miss?"

I shook my head. "No, you may go."

We waited until she was out of the room before continuing.

"Let me explain something to you," Father said. "The lifestyle you girls and your mother enjoyed does not come cheap. In life, one must make choices. We cannot have what we want without sacrifice. I'm in the kind of business that requires discretion as well as guts. Some might call it grit. Regardless, I did it all to take care of my family, and the thanks I get are two daughters who have left their mother. She is bereft, thanks to you."

"Thanks to me? You had Connie killed. If you hadn't done that, I would be happily married with a baby. Instead, my life was ruined."

"You ruined your life when you lay with him out of wedlock."

That part was true. I could not deny my culpability in that regard. "I thought we were marrying soon." An image of Connie's hair glistening in the sunshine that afternoon floated across my mind. He'd been beautiful. So good. I'd thought I'd get to watch his hair turn white as we made a life and family together. "You took him from me," I whispered. "I can never forgive you for that."

"I didn't come seeking forgiveness. Your mother wants to know where your sister is."

"Are you having someone follow me?" I asked, avoiding the question.

"I promised your mother I'd locate you," he said, avoiding my question. "Thus, I had to use whatever methods I could find at my disposal."

"You make it sound as if you don't have goons working for you—doing your dirty work."

"Young lady, you best watch your tongue."

For a moment, I believed him and almost fell into my typical capitulation. However, then I remembered I no longer had to answer to him. I was free. "I won't hold or watch my tongue. Never again. I don't belong to you."

He fixed cold eyes upon me. "This Dr. Bancroft has money, I see. You're obviously well taken care of."

"It's not your concern."

"This arrangement's a common one," Father said without emotion. "For a common whore."

His words stung. Unshed tears scratched my eyelids and closed my throat. After what he did, how could I still care what he thought of me or the name he called me?

"I take it this is a somewhat permanent relationship?" Father asked. "As permanent as this sort of arrangement can be, anyway."

"As I told you, I am not his mistress. He's loyal to his wife."

"Right. Price's daughter. Homicidal, I've heard. No hope for her returning to good health from what I've heard."

"It doesn't matter. Percival's a loyal man. He has a child for whom he wants to set a good example." Unlike you.

Taking his cup in hand, he studied me for longer than felt comfortable. I had to keep myself from squirming like a child. "You're in love with him."

"It's not your concern what I feel or don't feel for Dr. Bancroft. I work for his mother, helping those in need of medical care. In exchange, they've set me up in this apartment."

"Miss Scarlet said you were contemplating working for her." His voice wavered just slightly.

"What do you care?"

"I don't want my daughter lying with men for money," Father said. "Bringing further shame on our family. This is bad enough. I didn't raise you to be a wanton woman."

"Shame? You are a mobster." I elongated each word and put a space between them. "What further shame could be brought than what you've done? How many men have you killed? How many lives have you ruined?"

He raised his voice to just below a full shout. "Everyone respects me. Don't you ever doubt that, you ungrateful little wench."

Not me. I don't respect you.

I was still too afraid of him to say the words out loud, but my God, I felt them in every part of my body and soul.

"Does Mother know the truth of what you did to Connie? Does she know where all the money comes from?"

"Your mother knows better than to question her own husband about such matters. Her job is to look pretty and entertain. Which she has always done well. Fortunately for her. I would have had no trouble ridding myself of her had she ever given me reason to do so."

Ridding himself? What did that mean? Would he have his own wife killed? "Like you did me."

"You left. You deserted your mother."

"I couldn't stay and watch my baby being raised by my sister. It was better to leave them be. Surely you can see that."

"In fact, your mother agrees it was the best outcome, given the circumstances. However, it's of no use to either of us because we don't know where Mauve and Pierre are." He slammed his coffee cup back onto its saucer hard enough I thought the china might break. "You will tell me, or you'll be sorry."

"Honestly, Father, I don't know. The day after the baby was born, I gathered my things and headed here to the city. The Bancrofts took me in for a period of time. Until they learned who I really was."

"Yet you're here?"

"Percival took pity on me. He didn't want me to work for Miss Scarlet, so he offered this apartment. As I said." Had I? The longer this conversation went on, the more confused I became. Now that I thought about it, speaking with my father had always been this way.

"The son—Simon Price—he's been making a nuisance of himself. Asking questions he shouldn't be asking. I'll have no choice but to get rid of him if he doesn't shut his mouth and keep to his own affairs."

I cocked my head to the side, examining him. His ruddy complexion was even more obvious since his hair had turned white. He'd grown plump, and bags under his eyes appeared soft and doughy. "Simon figured out who I really am. This was months after I'd come to live here. After the Bancrofts understood you were my father, they asked me to leave. How could I blame them? You destroyed their family."

"I didn't touch the wife. I wouldn't harm a woman," Father said.

"But you do harm them when you kill the men they love. You hurt me when you had Connie killed."

"He did that to himself. I could tell he would cause me trouble. I knew it in my bones."

"So, you had him killed." Not a question.

He shrugged, appearing bored.

"Percival and Simon believe her father's murder helped in Mary's demise," I said. "Their entire family shattered into a thousand pieces because of you."

"It was a business decision," Father said. "Mr. Price disrespected me. He paid for it with his life. I lose no sleep over it."

"What about Connie?" I asked. "Do you lose sleep over killing the man I loved?"

"You seem to have recovered nicely from your broken heart." He smirked.

"What does that mean?"

"You're living here as Percival Bancroft's mistress. I know you well enough to know that it cannot only be about survival. You're too much of a romantic for that to be true."

I stared at him for a moment, shocked by this insight into my character. "My romantic nature was tested and found lacking when I faced hunger and dying on the streets during a cold New York winter."

He grew silent, seemingly contemplating what I'd said. This gave me a small kernel of gratification. "Which led you to Miss Scarlet's doors," he said finally.

"Something like that."

"And this Dr. Bancroft found you there and once again rescued you. Sounds terribly romantic. I suspected he'd seduced you during a vulnerable period in your life, and silly girl that you are, you've fallen in love with him."

"He's not mine to love. He has a wife."

"He's a man of honor, is that it?" Father sneered, his words dripping with sarcasm.

If I had trouble defending myself, I certainly didn't have the same trouble when it came to Percival. Not only did he show me how truly small my father was, he was the best man I knew. Period. No one was better. It was suddenly terribly important that Father understand this. "He is. He truly is. And yes, he rescued me when I was all alone and sick, with nowhere to go. But Percival's not keeping me here to become his mistress but because he's kind and generous. When he found me at Miss Scarlet's, he…he…" What exactly was I trying to say?

"He couldn't bear the idea of other men touching you," Father said. "He wants you to himself. I know men because I am one."

My cheeks flamed, and I could not look at him. "Whether you believe me or not is of no consequence." I managed to raise my gaze to his face.

Father dotted his mouth with a napkin and stood. "I must take my leave. Your mother will be disappointed to hear you do not know of Mauve's whereabouts. Her heart's been broken by you two girls. I never thought I'd see the day. Perhaps you—always headstrong and a little wild—but our sweet little Mauve? No. This is because of Pierre's influence. I should have known better than to let her marry a Frenchman."

Why had he allowed Pierre to live and not Constantine? They both refused to work for him. The difference must be as simple as this: Connie threatened to go to the police, whereas Pierre simply refused a job offer.

"Mauve knows who you are now. Do you really think she would have stayed and let you kill Pierre like you did Connie? Wherever she is, she's safe from you. As far as Mother goes, I'm sorry she's sad, but I can't help—I don't know where Mauve and the baby are. You may tell her I'm alive and well taken care of, therefore she can put me out of her mind if she hasn't done so already." I waited for God to strike me down for my lies, but nothing came. "I'll show you out," I said.

"Very well."

As we entered the foyer, Penelope appeared with his coat and hat.

Father looked at me for a moment, an emotion reflected in his expression I could not decipher. Was it regret? Disappointment? "What you and your sister have done has broken your mother's heart. You might as well both be dead and buried in the ground next to your brother."

"Mother should blame the one responsible. We both know who that is."

"You can't prove it was me that killed Constantine." This was said matter-of-factly. A statement by a man who did not have to pay for his actions.

"And therefore it didn't happen?" I asked. "Is that what you tell yourself?"

"You aren't capable of understanding the complexities of my business." Father buttoned the top of his coat. "My father used to tell me that nothing was impossible. There were always solutions to get what we wanted in life. If you want Dr. Bancroft, you're going to have to play dirty."

"I want to be a good person," I said quietly. "That's more important to me than anything else."

"I hope it will be enough to keep you warm at night. Goodbye, Estelle."

I watched as Penelope held the door open for him. The moment he stepped outside to the hallway, she slammed the door behind him.

As hard as I tried to remain stoic, tears flooded my eyes. His indifference hurt. Mother's lack of courage hurt. I was without a family.

"Miss, come rest. You're white as the china."

Penelope clucked sympathetically, then led me back into the sitting room, fussing over me, muttering under her breath about the nerve of some people. Percy would come later tonight for dinner. Although he'd asked for Saturday evenings only, I'd convinced him to come by this evening as well. Thank goodness. I needed to see him.

The day had dragged on after Father left, but it was finally time for Percival to arrive. Although it had only been a couple of days since I'd seen him, I ached to be near him. The night before, I'd caught wind through Penelope, who remained friends with the staff at the Bancrofts', that he and his mother were going to a gala at the Ashfords'. I'd attended a ball there during the holidays just two years ago. Strange to think of it now. How different my life had been. Mauve and I had been new debutantes, excited to be included in parties and dances. Both of us romantics, hoping to find true love sooner rather than later. If I'd only known.

Penelope helped me dress with care for my dinner with Percival. The dressmaker had been by earlier with one of my new evening dresses—a blue silk with a dropped waist and lacy collar that flattered my figure.

"You look lovely," Penelope said, standing back from the full-length mirror in my bedroom to look me up and down. "I'd give anything for your thick hair." She touched her fingers to her light blond hair. "Nothing but wisps. I'm too short and round to be fashionable. But I suppose I have my personality, which will last me my whole life, whereas beauty fades."

"You're beautiful inside and out," I said. "If it weren't for you, I'd be terribly lonely."

"Speaking of beauty, I have gossip." Penelope's eyes twinkled. "I think Mr. Foster fancies Mrs. Landry. He came by yesterday to ask her for a recipe. It was quite obvious he likes her."

"Do you think the feelings are returned?"

"It seems so to me."

"How lovely for them. Perhaps we'll have a wedding sometime soon."

I must have sighed because Penelope's expression grew concerned. "What is it?"

"Nothing, really. It's just that I wish…well, never mind. One must get on with things and be grateful for what we have."

"Yes, but sometimes what we want seems bigger than what we have."

I nodded, returning her kind smile in the mirror.

"I shall check with Mrs. Landry about dinner," Penelope said. "And put the final touches on the table. I found the most glorious candlesticks in a drawer."

She left me to take care of her tasks. I wandered into the sitting room, restless and nervous. Silly , I told myself. It's only Percival. Still, I craved him with a hunger different from an empty stomach. It was a yearning so fierce that I was afraid it might swallow me whole. My father's unwelcome visit had only made me realize with more clarity that the Bancrofts had become my family.

I stood by the fire, warming my hands. Penelope had recently added additional logs, which brightened the room, even though it had grown dark outside hours before.

I felt rather than heard Percival enter through the room. I turned, hummingbirds in my stomach. What in the world? I gasped at the sight of his swollen black-and-blue face.

"My God, what's happened to you?" I asked.

"I'm fine. I'll explain." He took my hands in his, studying me intently. "It's good to see you."

"Were you in an accident?"

"No. Not an accident." He gestured toward the bar. "Let me pour myself a drink, and then we can sit and talk."

"Yes, yes. Whatever you want." Frightened to hear what he would say, I sat in my favorite chair by the fire and pressed my trembling hands together.

He took the chair next to me and tossed back a mouthful of whiskey. "I was attacked last night after I left the Ashfords' party."

My body went numb. I knew before he said it who was responsible.

"It was two of your father's thugs. They asked me, in a manner of speaking, to convince Simon to stop stirring up trouble and to stay away from you."

My stomach felt as if it plunged to the floor. "What do you mean?"

"Simon went to speak to a friend, a cop, about his father's murder. He wants justice. But there's no such thing when it comes to these men. Your father will have Simon killed if he doesn't do as he's told, and there's not a thing any of us can do about it."

"Have you seen Simon? Did he agree?"

"Yes, I spoke to him last night. He's going to leave for Europe as soon as possible."

"That will send a message, no doubt, that he'll leave well enough alone." I twisted my fingers together until my skin whitened. "My father came to see me this morning."

"Here?"

"Yes. He wanted me to tell him where my sister and Pierre are living. They've not been in contact since they left for France."

"Did you tell him?"

"No. I lied to him. I'm ashamed to say it, but I had to." My breath caught, remembering the cruel words he'd said to me. "As much as I despise him, he's still my father, and he still has the power to hurt me. He said a few things—hurtful things."

"What did he say?" Percival growled the words rather than spoke them.

"I can't say it."

"He thinks you're my mistress?"

"Yes. He knows I considered working for Miss Scarlet."

"And he called you terrible names?" Percival asked.

"Correct." I waved a hand in front of my eyes to try to keep the tears from spilling onto my cheeks and ruining Penelope's handiwork with powder and rouge.

"I'm sorry," Percival said. "I'd take it away if I could."

I granted him a smile, even though inside, I felt like crying. "He knows about this arrangement, obviously. I tried to convince him that it was only a friendship we shared, not a romance, but he didn't believe me." Who would? The modern world had become a cynical place. Especially to men like my father.

Echoing my thoughts, Percival said, "Most men wouldn't believe such a thing possible."

"You're not most men." I ached to touch his bruised face but kept my hands folded in my lap instead.

"Did you tell him about Constantine? That you know he had your fiancé killed?" Percival asked.

"I did. He never fully admitted to hiring someone to kill him, but I know it's true. He's good at deflecting. Regardless, I could see the truth in his eyes, even though the man refused to acknowledge that his actions are what ruined his family."

"What now?" Percival asked.

"I don't think he'll return. If Simon's out of the country, Father should leave us alone." I really hoped I was right.

"What about your mother?"

"She doesn't care enough to come see me," I said. "Thus, I mustn't care either."

"But you do."

The compassion in his eyes and the soft, sympathetic curve of his mouth undid me. I covered my face with my hands so that he would not see the ugly way my face contorted when I sobbed.

I felt rather than saw him move from his chair to fall on his knees before me. "I'm sorry for it all," he whispered.

I removed my hands from my damp face to look down at his bent head, close enough I could see the tooth marks made from a comb in his glossy dark hair. "I'll be all right."

He looked up at me. "May I bring Clara to see you tomorrow after church? She might cheer you?"

"All Bancrofts do," I said, smiling through yet another bout of tears.