Chapter 21 #2
Blushing, she looked away from Mrs. Cannon.
“Rescue crews are still digging and finding more of the dead every hour,” the woman informed her. “You’re one of the lucky
ones, Miss Vessey. Lucky also that we were quickly able to identify you from the clothes you were wearing. With help from
Mr. Stanton, of course.”
The fur coat with Caroline Vessey stitched inside the lining, the hand-me-down nightgown with CV embroidered on the cuff. Yes, lucky that she’d happened to grab the fur coat before leaving her compartment. Its warmth had
saved her. Lucky that she had left to get a glass of water, that she hadn’t been in her compartment when the avalanche hit.
Lucky that apart from a concussion, some bruising, and a sprained wrist, she had no other injuries. Not even frostbite.
“You’re due for discharge tomorrow, but you still need rest and quiet,” Mrs. Cannon said. “My husband and I would like you to stay with us until you’re feeling better. Until you remember more. He’s notified your guardians’ lawyer. Mr. Danby is on his way here.”
Not only were the Cannons one of the town’s most prominent couples, but Mr. Cannon was also its leading lawyer. She stayed
with Edward and Helen Cannon for several days before the Dominics’ lawyer arrived. She didn’t go into the parlor to meet Danby
until Mrs. Cannon sent for her.
In the room adjoining the parlor, piles of papers were spread out on the dining table, where Mr. Cannon was reading his way
through a stack of documents. Another man sat beside him, a pair of glasses in his right hand. The lawyer from New York.
The man who would take one look and announce she was not Caroline Vessey. But they couldn’t blame her for losing her memory.
They could only blame themselves for making assumptions.
“Ah, here is Miss Vessey,” Mrs. Cannon said. “Now, Caroline, I’ve told Mr. Danby that your health is still delicate, physically
and mentally. He knows you don’t remember everything so he’s not to question you as though it’s a cross-examination.” She
shot a stern look at Danby, who put the glasses down and hastened to greet her.
“Miss Vessey, my sincere condolences,” he said, taking her hand. “Your guardians were clients for decades, friends as much
as clients, if I may presume to say. I shall miss them very much.”
Danby was tall and lean. His gray mustache was neatly trimmed, his clothing expensively tailored, and his hair neatly slicked
back. Even though it was the middle of winter, there was a fresh rosebud in his lapel. It gave him the air of an elderly dandy,
but when he peered at her through watery brown eyes, she thought he looked kind.
“How do you do, Mr. Danby,” she said. “I’m afraid that if we’ve met I don’t quite recall; my head still hurts and I remember things only in bits and pieces sometimes . . .”
This was a lie. Her memories had come back while in the hospital but it had been useful to feign confusion. For one thing,
the Cannons thought she was a wealthy heiress and had insisted she stay with them until she had recovered completely.
“Nothing to worry about,” he said gallantly, “I’m eminently forgettable. And we met only once, very briefly, at your guardians’
home on Fifth Avenue shortly after you went to live with them. It was your uncle’s birthday. You joined the party for a few
minutes and then left. That was four years ago when you were still . . .” His voice trailed off and he looked awkward.
“. . . still in mourning,” she said, finishing the sentence for him. She remembered Danby now. She remembered that he had
squinted with myopic eyes at the tray of hors d’oeuvres she had been carrying.
“I do remember something about that party, Mr. Danby,” she said slowly. “You didn’t like caviar, so you took the smoked trout
canapé.”
“That’s right,” he said with a pleased smile. “I abhor caviar. I’m astonished you remember. That’s a good sign that your memory
is coming back, isn’t it?” He beamed and blinked.
“Only in bits and pieces,” she said.
“Shall we set out the tea, Caroline,” Mrs. Cannon said, “while the men keep talking business?”
She helped Mrs. Cannon lay out the teacups and sat down on the settee to slice cake, all the while keeping her ear tilted
toward the dining room, where the lawyers were talking.
“Poor little rich girl,” Mr. Cannon said, “first she loses her parents and then her guardians. And in such a horrific way. She’s a sweet thing, clever too. You can tell even though her memory’s a bit vague.”
“When I met her that one time in New York, she was really still a child, not long out of boarding school.” Mr. Danby sighed.
“A pinched little face, in shock after losing her parents. All in black, thin as a wraith. Stared down at the floor the whole
time, long fringe of hair hanging over her eyes. She’s certainly improved now that she’s grown up and put on some weight.”
“Can you confirm this is Caroline Vessey?” Mr. Cannon said. “We’ve never doubted it, but you’re the one who knows her.”
“She just remembered a detail only Caroline Vessey would know, from the one time we met,” Mr. Danby said, “something I had
forgotten myself until she brought it up.”
That was when she realized how easy it would be to simply become Caroline Vessey. And now she was Mrs. Thomas Stanton. Caroline
Stanton. Grey would not take this life away from her.
Once again, Caroline had the driver drop her off near Dauphin Jewelers with instructions to return in an hour. She picked
up her bracelet, now repaired, and strolled away from the jeweler, away from the main street toward the Café Royale.
For this meeting with Grey, she had dressed in the most nondescript clothing she owned, muted colors, a charcoal-gray coat
with the collar turned up, a plain black hat with a drooping brim and veil. The Café Royale, tucked into a small side street,
was a far cry from the kind of establishment that attracted the better class of clientele. Its dingy fly-specked windows were
streaky with grease—most definitely not the sort of place where she would run into anyone she knew.
Caroline took a quick look above the café curtains and drew a deep breath.
He was there, at a corner table by the window, a spot where he could peer through the cheap curtains to watch the street.
That was all right; she had expected him to arrive earlier than the appointed time.
The bell on the door tinkled when she pushed it open.
He stood up when she approached the table, and even though she didn’t want to exchange pleasantries about the weather or the
newly renovated dining room at the Astor House Hotel, Grey thought he was holding all the cards and she had to play the game
as he wished. He obviously wanted to make this encounter look like a rendezvous between friends. Only after their coffee arrived
did he lean forward and change to a low, confiding voice.
“So, my dear.” He put his hand over hers as she reached for her steaming cup. She pulled back, splashing dark liquid on the
tablecloth. He grinned at this and withdrew his hand. “How did you do it? How did you get away with it?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Grey,” she said.
“Stop pretending, Caroline, or whatever your name is,” he said. “I’ve contacted a detective in New York and he’s doing some
digging around for me. I’ll soon have evidence that you were the Dominics’ maid. So again, how did you do it?”
What slim hope she’d dared entertain crumbled. Hope that perhaps he was mistaken, that what he thought he knew wasn’t her
real secret, that she could somehow still evade his grasp.
“It was remarkably simple, given the circumstances,” she said, holding back nausea. “Everyone assumed I was Caroline Vessey
and I let them. They all tiptoed around and didn’t question me too much, not wanting to upset my fragile state of mind after
the avalanche. I refused to get on a train back to New York. Everyone was very understanding of this and a very kind lawyer
brought all the paperwork to me.”
Grey sat back, waited for her to say more, but she merely put the cup to her lips and regarded him as she drank.
“So the opportunity fell in your lap and you decided to take it,” he said. “I applaud your initiative. And then marrying Thomas Stanton for his money. Or did he marry you for yours?”
“Thomas doesn’t need money,” she said, carefully judging how much to say. “He was a millionaire before we married.”
“Is that what you think?” Grey shook his head. “He owns mines, but some of them are no longer producing. He’s worth less than
he was a year ago. That’s why he’s in China, rolling the dice on railways. Using your money, which he can have you sign over
to him.” He licked his lips and smiled again, watched for her reaction to his words.
Caroline managed to put her cup and saucer down, hands steady, no rattle of porcelain, nothing to give away the fear clotting
around her heart. “All I need to know is why we are meeting today.”
“Ah yes,” he said, “so here’s the thing. My fortunes have slipped since those heady days in New York. If the awe-inspiring
Mrs. Dominic were still alive, she wouldn’t invite me to one of her dinner parties. Though to be perfectly frank, I barely
scrambled my way onto her guest list even back then.” Grey snorted, then sat up straight. “I need your husband to invest in
my land development company. Fifteen thousand dollars. I’ve asked him but he refused.”
“I don’t tell Thomas what to do,” she said, “and anyway, why would he listen to me? I know nothing about business.”
“Perhaps you don’t know anything about business,” Grey said, “but I think he’d do anything for you. He’s absolutely smitten.
If a man of Stanton’s stature invests in my business, others will jump on board too.”