A Distant Shore (30 page)

Boston, 1839

Margaret swept into Rose Forbes’s Beacon Hill mansion with an airy smile. She felt too determined to be afraid at what she was about to do, although her heart was beating hard.

“It is so nice to see you, Margaret,” Rose said as she rose from her chair in the spacious drawing room. “It has been far too long.”

“Indeed it has.” Margaret exchanged pleasantries as she removed her mantelet and bonnet and handed them to the waiting maid. “I’m so pleased to have seen you at the musicale last week,” she continued. “We must catch up on our news.”

Rose smiled and began to pour the tea into delicate porcelain cups. “Indeed. Robert did mention that Henry has returned from China?”

“So he has.”

“And I trust he had a safe journey?”

Margaret thought of his crew captive in Kowloon. “I am thankful he has returned home,” she said simply. “Although his ship
The Charlotte Rose
did not.”

“Such a pity,” Rose murmured. “Robert, you know, has not sailed to China for many years. It is so dangerous these days.”

Margaret nodded. She’d known Robert Forbes did not currently trade with China, but he might in the future… especially if he thought the Opium War would be resolved in the traders’ favor. Yet would she find proof of such a thing, if she managed to get into his study?

Her mind raced even as she accepted a cup of tea and sipped it carefully. How could she contrive of a way to leave the drawing room and find the man’s study? She wished she had thought of some decisive plan before arriving, but nothing had come to mind. She’d hoped something might occur to her once she’d seen the Forbes’ house, but her mind remained blank as she listened to Rose’s desultory comments on the upcoming season and made her own mindless replies, all the while desperately trying to think of a way to excuse herself.

A half hour passed and Margaret knew that Rose would expect her to take her leave soon. Extending her stay much beyond that would be seen as both rude and out of character. Yet she still had not thought of a way to get into Robert Forbes’s study.

A gentle commotion was heard outside, and then the maid admitted Elizabeth Malton, a mutual acquaintances of theirs, into the drawing room.

“Elizabeth!” Rose stood gracefully. “How lovely to see you.”

The maid took Elizabeth’s outer things and left the room, and Rose poured more tea. Margaret saw—and took—her only chance.

“I must not stay any longer,” she said, trying to keep her voice bright and airy. “But you must not disturb yourselves. Don’t bother to summon the maid, Rose. I can surely see myself out.” With a quick, charming smile to emphasize her point, Margaret turned towards the door before Rose could insist otherwise.

She barely heard the other women’s farewells over the hard thudding of her own heart. The entry hall of the mansion was empty and silent, save for the murmur of voices from the room she had just left.

Several paneled doors led off the hall, but Margaret had no idea which one might be Robert Forbes’s study and she knew she could not afford any margin of error.

Taking a deep breath, she crossed the hall and turned the brass handle of one of the doors. It opened with a tiny squeak, making Margaret’s blood race. She peeked in, and saw what looked like a small morning room. Quickly she closed the door and tried the one on the other side.

It opened into a masculine-looking room, with rich, crimson drapes and a large walnut desk scattered with papers. A study. Margaret breathed a sigh of relief and slipped into the empty room, quietly closing the door behind her.

She tiptoed quickly to the desk and began to examine the papers lying on top of it, trying not to disturb them. She had assured Henry that if she were caught in such a position as this, she would merely be embarrassed, but as Margaret picked up one paper and scanned it before turning to another, she knew she was taking a greater risk than that. She would be ruined socially, and perhaps even worse… especially if Robert Forbes were involved in anything of a private or possibly illegal nature.

Of course, opium trade was not illegal in this country, she reminded herself. Men engaged in it proudly enough, and some had even published pamphlets extolling the benefits of the trade. Yet Zexu wanted names and no matter how many pamphlets were printed in this country, Margaret doubted such men wished the High Commissioner to know them personally.

She reached for another sheet, saw this letter was from Russell and Company, one of America’s great trading houses in Canton. Robert Forbes was intending to take over its leadership.

With her breath held, Margaret read the rest of the letter. Was this enough proof? Her hands trembling, she folded the paper, intending to slip it into her reticule. She heard voices outside the door, and she tensed, frozen behind the desk as she watched the door handle inexorably turn.

Chapter Fifteen

Boston, 1839

“One moment, Malton.”

From behind the heavy damask drapes Margaret could hear Robert Forbes moving around his study. She stared at the letter clenched in her trembling hands, and willed her legs not to shake. If she were discovered now, there could be absolutely no excuse. She was hiding behind the drapes, after all, which had been the only recourse she could think of when she’d seen the door handle turn.

But if Forbes found her here… she would be ruined; Henry’s business could very well be ruined as well. She had risked everything, and for what? A piece of paper whose value was not certain? It seemed absurd that she had attempted such folly. At least she’d had time to hide behind the drapes before the door to the study had opened.

Robert Forbes continued to shuffle the papers on his desk and Margaret heard another man enter the room. Malton, she supposed, Elizabeth’s husband. That was why Elizabeth had visited unexpectedly; her husband must have had business with Rose’s.

What if the men stayed in the study to discuss their business? Margaret might be stuck here for hours. And how on earth would she extricate herself without notice when—or if—the time finally came? Feeling sick with nerves, she closed her eyes and pressed back against the wall.

The men spoke for a few minutes, although Margaret could barely take in what they were saying. Something about insurance and shipping, but she couldn’t hear enough to make any sense of it.

Her legs felt like water and her heart was pounding so hard it hurt to breathe. She tried to take quiet, shallow breaths, afraid some small movement might alert the men to her presence.

Then she heard the chair creak as Robert stood up—or sat down?—and finally, finally the door opened and then closed again with a final-sounding click. The study was blessedly silent, and Margaret sagged against the wall.

Still she counted to a hundred before she dared move from behind the drapes. Her fingers still trembling, she folded the letter from Russell and Company and forced it into the small confines of her reticule. Then, her heart still pounding, she went to the door.

The wood-paneled door was thick and muffled any sound from the entrance hall. Margaret knew she was taking a great risk in opening it even a crack; if anyone, maid or mistress, was out there, it would be impossible to explain her presence. She should have left thirty minutes ago or more!

She pressed her ear against the door and heard only the muffled ticking of the grandfather clock. No creak of floorboards, no murmur of voices. She must take a chance.

Holding her breath, she opened the door a tiny crack—and saw no one. She forced herself to open it further, and then when with relief she saw the silent emptiness of the hall she slipped out and on what felt like hollow legs made for the front door. She had just turned the handle when she heard the doors to the drawing room open and without a backward glance or even a thought in her head she slipped through the front door and out into the blessed freedom of the street.

She did not stop there, though; she had not taken the carriage that morning, as she had not wanted its presence to alert Rose to her prolonged stay in the house as she went snooping. Now she walked as quickly as she could without attracting unseemly attention down the street, past mansion after gracious mansion until she was well on her way to the Back Bay and home.

It was only when Margaret was safely ensconced in her own drawing room that her hands stopped shaking and her heartbeat slowed. She called for tea and sank into a chair, wobbly with relief.

The door opened and she jerked upright, then laughed self-consciously as she saw Henry come into the room.

“You look as if you have seen a ghost,” he remarked with a smile. “Did I startle you?”

“My nerves are a bit strained,” Margaret admitted. “But I hope this might be of use to you.” She pulled the folded letter from her reticule and handed it to him.

Henry read it silently, a frown settling between his brows. “Forbes is taking on Russell and Company? That’s been kept quiet,” he finally said, and Margaret’s heart sank.

“Is it any use? Will it appease Zexu?”

Henry glanced up, his frown deepening. “Where did you get this?”

“Off Robert Forbes’s desk.”

“Margaret!” He shook his head, looking as if he might scowl, but then he broke into a smile instead. “You are a marvel,” he said, and drew her up from the chair and into her arms. “And I pray this will appease Zexu. It is certainly more information than he had before.” He kissed her tenderly. “What on earth would I do without you?”

“Pray you never need find out,” Margaret answered, and kissed him back.

“Resign?” Ian stared at the General Chief of Surgery in numb disbelief.

“You must see the sense of it,” John Collins Warren answered. “Our hospital depends on several charitable benefactors. We cannot be seen to have anything to do with notoriety or scandal.”

“But…” Ian licked his lips, his mind spinning. It had been three weeks since Horace Wells had attacked him outside his home, and his chest still ached where he’d been stabbed. Yet now his heart ached far worse, for the thought of leaving the hospital, his career ruined, filled him with both grief and shame. “Wells was deranged, sir. Quite out of his mind. He had nothing to do with me—”

“Nonsense, Campbell. He was your colleague. Have you not been haring off to Hartford to work with him at every opportunity?” Warren’s eyebrows rose from behind his spectacles and Ian felt himself flush.

“We had a professional association, it is true—”