Storing Up Trouble, стр. 89

“Ah, Mr. MacKenzie. I was hoping I’d get an opportunity to speak with you this evening after I learned how well your meeting went today with the union men who represent my meat-packing factory.” He turned his smile on Mrs. Sturgis. “How wonderful, dear, that you’ve apparently already met the oh-so-lovely Mrs. Ian MacKenzie, the lady I spoke to you about earlier, the one who”—he lowered his voice—“is a member of the New York Four Hundred, and the one you wanted to be introduced to.”

Some of the color leaked out of Mrs. Sturgis’s face. “I . . . I’ve not had the pleasure of an introduction as of yet.”

“Can’t have that,” the man said, taking hold of Mrs. Sturgis’s arm and pulling her forward. “Mr. MacKenzie, allow me to present my wife, Mrs. Sturgis. Marilyn, this is Mr. Ian MacKenzie and his lovely wife, Mrs. MacKenzie.”

After stumbling through the pleasantries, a now-pale Mrs. Sturgis looked at Beatrix, then Isadora, and then to Ian before she returned her attention to Beatrix. “I don’t understand how a salesgirl is acquainted with a member of the New York Four Hundred.”

Before Beatrix could answer, Isadora sent her a slightly bewildered look, one Beatrix responded to with a quirk of a brow and a shrug. Isadora’s lips curved just the slightest bit before she nodded, squared her shoulders, and turned her attention back to Mrs. Sturgis. “Beatrix and I grew up together. And then we made our debuts together.”

Mrs. Sturgis turned paler still. “Your . . . debuts?”

Isadora nodded. “Indeed, as in debuts to New York society, but . . . were you unaware that Beatrix is a member of the New York Four Hundred as well?”

Beatrix felt Norman stiffen beside her, but before she had a chance to explain, his mother, Mary, stepped around Mrs. Sturgis. Stopping directly in front of Beatrix, she narrowed her eyes. But then, instead of saying a single word to Beatrix, she glanced around at a crowd that was beginning to press closer, then nodded to Norman. “We should take this somewhere private.”

“Indeed,” Norman said, taking Beatrix’s arm and tugging her along in the wake of his mother, who was already sailing her way through the crowd and toward an exit.

“Would you like me to come with you?” Isadora asked, Ian by her side as they fell into step beside Beatrix.

“I would, but I believe this is going to be uncomfortable enough as it is. I’ll find you after I’m done speaking with Norman and his mother.”

“Do not do anything to upset Beatrix,” Isadora said to Norman, who slowed his pace but didn’t stop.

“I’m fairly certain she’s the one who is about to upset me,” he returned right as Ian drew himself up and took on a rather menacing air. “Interesting friends you have,” Norman muttered as they left Isadora and Ian behind, walking through the doorway of the ballroom and finding Mary waiting for them.

“I’ve been friends with Isadora since we were in short dresses, although I’ve only become friends with Ian over the past year, after Isadora ran off from New York to escape a most dastardly duke who was determined to marry her.”

Norman came to an abrupt stop and arched a brow. “She ran away because of a dastardly duke?”

Before she could answer, Mary marched up to join them. “This is no time for chitchat. We have important, and need I add, disturbing matters to discuss. Follow me.”

It took all of five minutes to wind their way through the hotel, retrieve their wraps, and then walk outside, Mary not stopping until she’d traveled well away from any lingering guests who might care to hear whatever it was she was about to say. Moving to stand by the corner of the Palmer House, she whipped around and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Did I hear correctly that you’re a member of New York high society?” was the first question out of her mouth.

Seeing no reason to deny it, Beatrix nodded. “I am, although why that appears to upset you is rather confusing. One would think my being a member of high society would alleviate some of the concerns you’ve had about my involvement with your son, since clearly I’m not after his money.”

“You have money?” Norman asked.

Beatrix nodded. “I do. My father, Mr. Arthur Waterbury, has been rather successful with increasing the family fortunes over the years, and he’s set aside a portion of that fortune for my personal use.”

Norman’s brows drew together as he took to regarding her far too intently, while Mary looked absolutely furious.

“Your father is Arthur Waterbury?” she demanded.

Having no idea why Mary would be mad about the fact that her father was Arthur Waterbury, Beatrix nodded. “He is.”

Mary narrowed her eyes and looked more furious than ever. “Then I was justified in believing you were up to no good as it pertains to my son.”

“I have no idea what you could possibly mean by that,” Beatrix said slowly.

Mary moved to Norman and took hold of his hand. “I’m sorry to have to be the bearer of what I’m sure you’re going to find distressing news, my dear, but you see, I was only recently given a new Pinkerton report. The agents were able to track down the apartment for one of the men, a James something or other. And while that man was long gone, he left behind some incriminating evidence.”

Mary sent Beatrix another scowl before she returned her attention to her son. “There was a letter written to James by none other than the mastermind behind the attempts to steal your research papers—a letter that was signed by one Mr. Arthur Waterbury. He stated in that letter that final payment would be made to this James person just as soon as the authentic research papers were delivered to him.”

“What?” Beatrix demanded, taking a step toward Mary, which earned her a glare before she looked back to her son.

“So you see, I was right about Miss Waterbury after all,