Chapter Thirty
Later that evening, on the sofa in her own family’s sitting room, sherry in hand and her mother at her side, Rose could scarcely believe the afternoon she’d had. It had been hard to let Finn go, even after the police had apprehended Gilbert and his accomplice who’d run up behind them in the darkness, unaware of the force there to meet them.
Even after Rose had been embraced by Charlotte who was waiting in the guard’s hut.
Even after they’d gone to the station and told the police everything.
Even after Reed had accompanied her into her home and practically bellowed so all the neighbors could hear, “What happened to you at the shipyard makes me so furious that I want to thrash Bennet and lock you in your room. You should not have been anywhere near the Ropewalk.”
Even then, she felt as if things were dreadfully unfinished between her and Finn.
It had not been easy to watch him walk off into the night. They had not even had a chance to touch hands or speak privately.
She’d had no option but to let him disappear into the darkness. If she hadn’t gone to the shipyard, Finn might be dead already. That thought haunted her as she’d excused herself after dinner and readied for bed. Thankfully, she had gone and stuck her nose where some might say it didn’t belong. Now, Master Builder Gilbert was in jail, along with some ogre of a man Finn said used to work at Kelly’s yard.
According to Reed, theGarrard’s owner would be taken into custody, as well as the yard overseer, Walsh, if they ever found him. They had all shared in the hefty insurance claim. They had all committed manslaughter, and more recently, the ogre had apparently committed outright murder of at least two people of whom they were aware, dumping the bodies into the harbor.
In the quiet of her firelit room, Rose admitted to herself she had not thought of William when she had made love with Finn in the Ropewalk. Though she felt keenly William’s disappearance from her life, she realized she was not experiencing the same type of utter despair as she had after the supposed death of her husband.
No, this time, she was not entirely destroyed. Not because she had loved William less than she had loved Finn, but because she was more of a complete person apart from her heart’s desire. As Fannie had said, she was still Rose Malloy, heartbroken or disappointed, engaged or not.
Moreover, Rose had the knowledge of having survived such anguish before, and she knew she would survive it again. It had taken a few dark days of worrying her mother and the rest of her family and, of course, Claire, but Rose had decided she would not fall into the deep despondency that had taken her four years earlier. No, this time, she would rescue herself.
***
“I’m none the worse for wear,” Rose told her mother for the umpteenth time the following morning. “It was truly not so terrible an experience.”
Because she still had her head attached and her life intact.What more could she ask for?
There was also the not-so-small matter that she had let her husband make love to her. She could speak to no one about this, not even Claire. She could only replay the momentous event and let a myriad of emotions roll over her like waves.
All that day, in fact, Rose couldn’t shake the feeling that Finn was near. She expected to see him at every turn, just as had happened at the start of their relationship four years earlier. Yet he was nowhere to be seen.
The rest of the week, she went to cooking class and helped ready her mother for her upcoming marriage to Mr. Nickerson and subsequent move across the river. Lastly, Rose went about the unpleasant task of composing notes to those who had sent her and William early wedding presents.
Still, no Finn.
A few days later, Rose deposited Claire on her doorstep after they’d supped on broiled lobsters at Crawford House’s ladies lunch. They’d also spent a futile few hours hunting at Parker Brothers and at R. Hollings for a present to mark her mother’s special day.
“We should go to Amano on Hamilton Place,” Claire suggested as they hugged goodbye. “We’ll find some perfectly exotic gift there from Bombay or Hong Kong.”
After Rose agreed to another shopping expedition, she climbed back into her carriage. The sudden realization that there was a note on the seat cushion barely surprised her. At least it wasn’t attached to a brick. She glanced around but saw no one.
Meet me at The Quincy, Rm 504, five o’clock tonight. Tell no one.
Well, that was rather presumptuous of Finn, she thought, though she knew she would go — if only to remind him that he owed her brother a visit and a signature.
***
Rose entered the seven-story hotel on Brattle Street, passing under its massive clock tower at 4:50 pm. It had been about five years since The Quincy House’s last renovation, and she still thought it veryau courant.
Making a mental note to suggest to Claire that they lunch there the following week, Rose crossed the lobby, hoping she looked like a lady who was merely going to her room and then perhaps for a meal at the hotel’s so-called New Café. Not like a woman about to meet her estranged husband.
After telling the elevator operator — a woman about her own age in a smart uniform and cap — her desired floor number, Rose eschewed the small seat in favor of standing and waited. Inwardly, she felt about four years old, letting the “magic box,” as she thought of it, lift her through the hotel.
Rose realized she was holding her breath only when she released it as the elevator came to halt and the young lady lifted the bar, pushed aside the accordion grating, and then opened the wooden door.
Wandering along the carpeted hallway, Rose found the room easily enough but hesitated at the door. Her pulse raced at seeing Finn for the first time since their incredible escapade. Knocking once, twice, Rose didn’t make it to thrice as the door swung inward. Stepping swiftly across the threshold, she turned to see an absolute stranger, who immediately closed the door behind her and locked it.
