P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

Her decision made, she quickly penned a thank-you note to Mona Starr, asking her for information about how to contact Lewis, then gave it to Sara to have it delivered.

Once the housekeeper left the room, Hattie began pulling open desk drawers, not certain what she sought. Inside the center drawer, she found a check ledger and their household accounts, which she set aside to look at in a day or two, after she had a better handle on the business. Side drawers revealed rows of files, some seemingly personal in nature, others business related.

She flipped through them, stunned to discover that Charles had kept detailed dossiers compiled by a private investigator on a number of prominent businessmen as well as politicians. Her mouth fell open when she found a file on her family containing confidential information regarding their personal finances, as well as character witness statements. Given the dates of the paperwork, Charles had had them investigated before he had proposed to her. Pulling the file out, she read the scrawled notes in Charles’s handwriting, her stomach churning.

The family seems honorable enough, though the free clinic connection is of questionable propriety, he’d written. And the dowry is adequate. Once Hattie is removed from her parents’ influence, she will make an obedient enough wife .

Her hands fisted, crumpling the paper. Methodically shredding the documents, she placed them in a cigar ashtray on the desk, striking a match to them.

The rest of the files contained papers relating to various business ventures. The only one that caught her eye was Charles’s substantial investment in the proposed railway from Portland, Oregon, along Hood Canal to Port Chatham—a railway she knew many of the town’s businessmen hoped would provide the basis for an ever-expanding local economy. And many of these businessmen, it turned out, were the very same ones on whom Charles had compiled dossiers.

Her late husband, Hattie concluded, had been either a careful businessman or a paranoid one, depending on one’s point of view. She was uneasy with this revelation into his business practices, and she had no doubt the men whose dossiers she held would be unhappy to know she had access to such information about them.

At the very back of the same desk drawer that contained the dossiers, she found a slim file with only one small slip of paper, upon which Charles had written what appeared to be a safe combination. Standing, she walked to the wall behind her and swung aside the portrait of Charles’s grandfather, revealing a small safe. Using the combination, she opened it.

Her mouth fell open. The small, rectangular space was filled with stacks of cash, along with a nondescript black leather journal. Never before had she seen so much money—it had to be thousands of dollars. Surely Charles didn’t conduct that much shipping business on the basis of cash.

Increasingly uneasy, she retrieved the journal and flipped through it, finding mostly empty pages. However, at the far back, Charles had written a short list of dollar amounts with no notations to explain them. Large dollar amounts, she realized with a chill, totaling well over fifty thousand dollars.

Sara entered, holding a calling card. Hattie quickly snapped the book shut, shoving it back inside the wall safe and returning the picture to its place on the wall.

“A Mr. Michael Seavey, ma’am.” Sara handed her a card made of white vellum, embossed with ornate engraved script.

Placing the card on the desk, Hattie sat, smoothing her skirt. “I’ll receive him in here, Sara.”

The housekeeper frowned. “Won’t you be wanting to freshen up first, ma’am, and greet him properly in the parlor?”

“I’m in the middle of my work—he’ll have to accept me as I am, dust and all. If you would be so kind as to prepare tea for us.”

“Very well, ma’am,” Sara sighed, obviously despairing of Hattie’s negligent attitude toward etiquette.

Moments later, Seavey appeared in the doorway, resplendently attired in a close-fitting gray frock coat with silk lapels, matching waistcoat, gray-on-gray striped silk tie, and black trousers. His pale gaze settled on her, and he bowed, his manner as subtly mocking as it had been that night on the beach. “Mrs. Longren.”

She inclined her head, indicating he should take the seat across from her and then clasping her trembling hands in her lap. It did not please her to realize that a man rumored to be involved in shanghaiing and the white slave trade had the ability to undermine her composure. He was beneath contempt, yet she would strive to remain polite. “Your visit comes as a surprise, Mr. Seavey.”

He settled into the wingback chair. “Not an unpleasant one, I hope,” he murmured. Tugging off his gloves one finger at a time, he placed them on the desk, a slight smile curving his lips. “I’ve come to inquire after your health.”

She raised both eyebrows. “You are the second person to do so today.”

“Ah.” He feigned chagrin. “I fear I’ve been disingenuous. Dare I ask what man has bettered me at my own game?”

“Chief Greeley paid us a quick visit this morning. I will tell you what I told him, that the girls and I are fine.”

Sara brought in the tea tray, and Hattie busied herself with serving. Though her pulse still beat quickly, she was pleased to see that her hands were steady.

“Greeley was here to see the fair young Charlotte, I presume,” Seavey said.

“Yes.”

“He’d keep her safe. However, he would also crush her spirit.”

Hattie stared at him, teapot in midair. “Yes, that’s it precisely, isn’t it?”

Seavey gave a nod. “Unfortunately, that is all a woman can hope for.”

Hattie held back an automatic retort. This man was dangerous; it would not be wise to openly challenge him.

Seavey sipped his tea in silence, glancing around the room, apparently feeling no need to keep the conversation going. Hattie had to restrain herself from fidgeting.

“This room has always pleased me,” he finally commented, surprising her yet again. “I told Charles on numerous occasions that he couldn’t have created a more comfortable space from which to conduct business.”

“I had no idea you’d been to the house,” Hattie said, unwillingly intrigued. “Was it before Charles and I married?”

Seavey’s expression turned wry. “On the contrary, I visited frequently after your arrival. I even had the pleasure of a glimpse of you in the garden from time to time, though Charles was usually very careful to keep you tucked away from sight.”

She swallowed, feeling unaccountably betrayed. The garden had been her escape, yet now she was discovering she’d never had a moment alone or gone unobserved—even, it appeared, by strangers.

Seavey seemed unaware of her reaction, raising his cup to salute her. “It is easy to see why Charles was so possessive. You are a woman of great beauty as well as strength of character. I confess I find myself equally fascinated by both.”

She frowned. “I’m in mourning, Mr. Seavey. Your remarks are inappropriate.”

He leaned back, lazily propping a low-cut, black leather boot on one knee. “I rarely worry about propriety, Mrs. Longren. And I was led to believe, given your recent adventure, that we were kindred souls of a sort.”

“We are nothing of the kind,” she said, alarmed that he would have drawn such a conclusion. “As owner of Longren Shipping, I simply felt an obligation to ensure that my sailing crews were safe.”

He looked amused. “You did more than that. I seem to remember you standing shoulder to shoulder with Port Chatham’s most famous madam. That takes grit, as well as a certain, shall we say, flexible frame of mind.”