Chapter Twelve
Haven Point, Maine
ANNA
Elizabeth poked her head in Anna’s door.
“Nora and Serena are downstairs. Mr. Lockwood is coming over to speak to all of us.”
Anna’s heart leapt at the news—He’s back!—but she replied in a deliberately casual tone. “Oh? What does he wish to speak to us about?”
“It has to do with a child from Eugenia’s settlement house. I’ll let him explain.” Elizabeth slipped out and went back downstairs.
Anna reached the bottom of the stairs just as Elizabeth’s maid opened the front door to admit Mr. Lockwood. He smiled and greeted her with a warm handshake.
“It’s so good to see you,” he said.
Anna felt her face flush as she led Mr. Lockwood to the living room.
Nora and Serena were already there, and tea was set out.
A quick look at the seating arrangements revealed two options for Anna: sit beside Mr. Lockwood on the sofa, or on the ottoman beside Elizabeth’s chair. She opted for the ottoman.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said, once tea was poured.
“My sister and I have rented the Grahams’ cottage at the beach, and we will be bringing a recently orphaned girl named Louisa Murphy from the settlement house to stay with us.
I particularly wanted to speak with all of you because she is of a similar age to your daughters. ”
Mr. Lockwood explained that Louisa suffered from poor health. Her late mother had managed to take her to the countryside every summer for the clean air the doctors recommended. She died recently, so he and Eugenia had stepped in to fill the gap.
“My sister has taken a particular interest in Louisa, who is a promising child. It was her sense, and mine, that your daughters would make her welcome.”
“Of course, Mr. Lockwood,” Serena said. Nora and Elizabeth nodded their agreement.
“I am sure the girls will be overjoyed to have a new friend,” Anna said. “But I should mention that I have been taking them to Gunnison Island several days a week. If she is sickly…”
“Yes, Mrs. Graham told me as much. Louisa is quite small, but I do not think you would otherwise notice any impairment. In fact, I think it would do her a great deal of good to run about.” He added, “I should mention, though, that Louisa has not spoken a word since her mother died. Eugenia has researched the phenomenon, and the muteness is thought to be temporary.”
He turned to Anna. “If you are amenable, though, I think it would be best if I brought her myself at first, just to spend a few hours in the afternoons.”
“Of course.”
As they were all preparing to depart, Mr. Lockwood turned to Anna.
“I apologize for what must now seem like a mission of surveillance,” he said. His eyes were kind, and she managed to summon the equanimity to tell him that she perfectly understood, but she returned to her room with an ache in her heart.
Mr. Lockwood’s rationale for his “surveillance” was perfectly understandable. Anna would spend many long hours with a child in whom he and Eugenia had taken such an interest, so it was natural that he wanted to know her better.
Time to recover your wits, Anna, she told her reflection in the mirror.
She had tried to maintain a clinical interest in the connection she felt to Mr. Lockwood.
He was intelligent, amusing, and he managed to bring out the humor Anna ordinarily only shared with her closest intimates.
But as she lowered herself into the chair by the window and looked out at the bay, she was forced to acknowledge that she had not succeeded.
A little seed of hope had been planted in her heart, though hope for what, exactly, she could not say.
Despite her heavy heart, she knew it was fortunate to have learned Mr. Lockwood’s motive in seeking her out.
Nothing good could have come from allowing that seed to take root and blossom.
The most likely outcome would be disappointment, but the alternative, in its way, was even worse.
After all, Anna’s desire for independence—her drive to pursue a career, to make the most of her skills and talents—was not a decision she made, but a calling.
It sprang from her very essence, and she had no desire to abandon herself for romance.
And certainly not for Mr. Lockwood, of all people.
In addition to revealing a flaw in his character, his relationship with Judith Fairchild rendered it dangerous to have anything but the most superficial friendship with him. For evidence, Anna needed only recall her last encounter with Mrs. Fairchild.
A week before they left for Haven Point, Lillian came to dinner with Judith in tow. When they entered the parlor, where Elizabeth, Jerome, and Anna were gathered, Lillian had launched in immediately.
“Julia just told me she wants to go to the Philippines!” Lillian said, as if the very idea was offensive. “I asked where she got such a notion, and she said, ‘From Beebe Bean’!”
The newspapers had gone wild over the exploits of Miss Bean, a young woman who had dressed as a boy and stowed away on a ship from San Francisco to Manila.
Julia, naturally, had the deepest admiration for the woman.
(Anna regretted not advising her niece to refrain from mentioning it to her grandmother.)
Jerome, impervious as always to his mother’s disapproval, chuckled from behind his paper, but Lillian ignored him.
“Have you been letting the child read the newspapers?” she asked Elizabeth sharply.
“I believe the young woman has been the subject of discussion at school,” Elizabeth replied.
Lillian sniffed. “I’m not surprised. It is not a fit subject for girls’ ears, but that school is far too permissive, as I have repeatedly told you. I hope you have told Julia not to participate in any conversations about this Miss Bean. It is quite harmful!”
For the most part, Lillian aired her grievances about her granddaughter to Elizabeth, and merely threatened to speak to Jerome. She’d grown bolder lately, which Anna attributed to Judith’s insidious encouragement.
Jerome folded down his newspaper and looked at his mother skeptically. “Oh, come now, Mother. That’s a bit extreme, is it not?”
Though Judith had remained silent during the conversational tennis match, Anna knew she would see this as her cue.
“Oh, but Jerome, you cannot approve of the woman’s deceit,” Judith said, in the gentle tone she used to launder Lillian’s harsh proclamations.
“The glorification of women behaving like men, and trotting around the world having outrageous adventures, has a terrible influence on impressionable girls. Our daughters must be shielded from such stories if they are to grow up to become feminine and home-loving.”
Jerome might not mind his daughter being an imp now, but Judith’s cunningly painted picture of a masculine, bold adult Julia was too much for him to bear.
“I daresay you might be right,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “Liz, we ought not let Julia go on about that Miss Bee person.”
Lillian nodded triumphantly. Anna knew what she was after. Lillian was determined to persuade her son that Julia was wayward, and that his wife was unsuited to the task of setting her straight. Then Lillian, with Judith’s help, would swoop in and fill the child-rearing vacuum.
Anna sighed and picked up the letter she’d recently received from Sally.
We have already ordered another print run, and my uncle is speaking of an entire series!
We have had complaints about Liberty Island from the usual corners, with one happy result.
That pious windbag Mrs. Howland was so furious about the book, she told Fanning and Scott they would no longer have the pleasure of publishing her books.
(As if it was a pleasure! Mr. Scott has only kept her on our list out of pure nostalgic sentiment.)
Anna could not help feeling gratified by the response of girl readers, and the added financial security that could come from a series was more than tempting.
Sally and her uncle would be delighted if Liberty Island appeared on lists like Judith Fairchild’s “Books to Avoid.” (According to Sally, they might as well be called shopping lists, for that is what they became in the hands of girl readers.) Anna, however, could not be so sanguine.
She recalled Lillian’s words from last September: I know Julia spends a good deal of time with Anna …
I am increasingly concerned about her influence over my granddaughter …
She has a secretive air about her. She could only imagine the reaction if she was discovered to be the author of Liberty Island.
Elizabeth had refused to defend herself against far lesser charges than “harboring an author of immoral literature.”
Anna was finally able to support herself.
Not in any luxury, granted, but she did not mind that.
However, she hated the thought of a rupture with her sister if the identity of “Miss Crane” was revealed—and of not being there to support Julia, particularly if Lillian got her way and she was sent away to school.
Anna could not afford to draw attention to herself at present, particularly from Mr. Lockwood.
She had enjoyed the witty banter, but it was useful to know that he had merely been evaluating her suitability to supervise Louisa Murphy.
It would help her remember that he was, first and foremost, a friend of Judith Fairchild’s.
And as everyone knows, the friend of one’s enemy is an enemy.
When the girls spotted Duncan’s boat coming around the tip of the island, with Mr. Lockwood and a little girl on board, they raced down to the beach to greet their new friend.
Duncan rowed his passengers ashore, and Mr. Lockwood got out of the dory, lifted the child out and placed her on the sand, then smiled kindly at Anna. She felt a flutter in her chest but dismissed it quickly, and turned her attention to the child.