“What are you going to do with thirty used typewriters?” she asked. “I’ll pay the interest on the loan, but you’ll have to wait for the balance. Give me until February, and I’ll pay you in full.”
There was another long pause while the bill collector talked, then Caroline answered, her voice quieter this time. It sounded like there was progress on negotiating a payment scheme.
Then the door yanked open, and he reared back a step.
“Eavesdropping!” Caroline gasped.
“You just stepped on my sandwich.”
She kicked the plate across the hall, where it cracked against the molding. “How dare you. That was a private conversation.”
“That you chose to have in my office when you already know I’m suspicious of you. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I ignored it. Who do you owe money to? And why?”
She looked at him with a mutinous expression. “I don’t owe money to anyone. But there’s a school for immigrant women on the verge of going under, and I’m trying to intervene.”
“That’s who has the thirty typewriters?”
“And twenty Morse Code sounders, a dozen sewing machines, and two telephone switchboards. The school’s owner opted to pay the teachers this month instead of the bill for the equipment.”
This must be the school Ludmila was attending in the evenings. The guards had been alerted that she would be returning home after ten o’clock three nights a week because she was learning to use a switchboard. He hadn’t realized Caroline was involved.
“Why isn’t the school paying its bills?”
“Because when threadbare women eager for classes come to the school, Petra enrolls them regardless of their ability to pay. She is an idealist who knows how to dream but not how to build.”
Caroline briefly outlined the problem. Their initial startup money had been spent on renovating a building. Donations helped but weren’t enough to pay the bills that came due every month, and they were now eighteen thousand dollars in the hole.
“How are you going to solve it?” he asked.
“I’m going to throw a party,” she said. “It’s the only thing I know how to do. I’ll invite a glittering crowd and hope they’ll pay a lot of money to attend. It won’t solve the problem, but it will help in the short-term.”
It sounded like a foolhardy plan, but it was Caroline’s problem, not his. He wished he didn’t know this about her. It would be easier to hold her at arm’s length if he thought her silly andshallow, but it was becoming hard not to admire her. He bent over to retrieve his sandwich, eager to get back to work.
“In case your brother plans another break-in at the White House, you should know I’ve ordered six more guards to patrol the residence on November 15th.”
He wouldn’t be caught off guard again.
Sixteen
Caroline was jumpy all day November 14th. She had no idea what was going to happen but suspected another midnight surprise. More artichokes? A serenade from the navy like Luke once arranged for an admiral’s daughter? Most of the staff knew a surprise was coming and had been asking her about it, but Caroline could only reply that she didn’t know what to expect.
“I had to order more food to feed those extra guards Mr. Trask hired,” the cook said. “He told me they’d be here for three days, so that’s a lot of food.”
“I hope they stay longer,” Betsy the kitchen maid said. “I don’t mind having six more handsome young men in the building.”
The police officers were different than Nathaniel’s men. Less stiff and more fun, they seemed happy to be there. They took turns walking the perimeter of the house, on the lookout for anyone trying to slip inside or leave something on the grounds.
Caroline spent the day answering mail with Mrs. McKinley. Then came a dinner with two dozen Wall Street industrialists, the kind of brash, aggressive men who annoyed Mrs. McKinley, so Caroline attended the dinner to carry on conversation withthe men’s wives. Waiters circulated around the table, setting bowls of leek soup and pear salad before the guests.
One of the footmen leaned in while filling her water goblet. “No sign of anything yet,” he whispered.
She nodded silently, but all night long it felt like she was waiting for Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. It was after midnight when she retired to the dormitory. Some of the women slept, but Betsy was awake and helped Caroline out of her gown, bustle, and corset.
“Mr. Trask has been pacing the ground floor all night,” Betsy whispered. “Looking behind draperies and inside the potted plants. He’s ordered a guard to sit in the kitchen all night long. Two more are circling the grounds. I’ve been watching them through the window.”
Caroline tugged a nightgown over her head. “Show me.”
The slope of the top-floor roof meant they only had a low window close to the floor, and she squatted beside Betsy to look through it. Thanks to Nathaniel’s new lampposts, the grounds were well-lit, making the uniformed police officers easy to see. One was at the southern post, while the other paced along the perimeter of the fence.
