Eleanor Tatum

Egad!

I had no idea. The number of parts surprises me. Either my novel is too long, or I am a lazy blogger. Maybe both. Maybe this is all right. I’ve decided not to make an issue out of it, but to persevere.

Catherine Randolph has justly earned her attributes of a survivor. As a young lady she was kidnapped from her early 20th century upscaled Charleston, South Carolina home, escaped, made herself useful in a rustic kitchen serving a gentlemen’s hunting club, ran into the surrounding swamps, learned to jump a freight train, disguise herself as a housemaid, and withdraw from that mess to plan her revenge with the help from a few of her friends: Trevor Coffman, an English gentleman, Joann and Ross Garret, a bi-racial couple of brave cooks, and Jacob Newsome, a fleeing Jewish journalist.

Yes, I do run on.

Part 51, page 98, The Patterson Hotel suite of Lord Trevor Coffman

“What’s all the racket?” Trevor forced a retreat from a restless and worried sleep to investigate. “At this hour the news can’t be good.” Then a vision of Catherine in his tight hug flashed across his anxious mind. “Yes, it could be good,” he mumbled as his trousers slipped over his hips. Hastily pulling a white linen shirt over his head, he rushed into their parlor and smiled at the entire company doing the same. The Garretts and Jacob waited for their next move.

“Catherine?” Joann wishfully asked the same fearful question they all thought.

Trevor’s pace toward the door quickened, but Ross was faster. “Let me.” To Joann he signaled for her to disappear and added a smile to soften the command. She glared but understood. “Better safe than sorry, my love,” he whispered.

The knocking stopped. “Lord Coffman? I need a word please, sir. It’s Homer McBride. Remember, I’m the Patterson’s manager?”

Ross opened the door. “Sir, what can we help you with at this unusual hour?

From across the room, Jacob smiled in appreciation for Ross’s rapidly strengthening talents as a gentlemen’s gentleman, instead of a backwoods chef.

“Is the earl available?” The manager’s nose went a half an inch higher. Ross suspected that would have been a full inch if Joann had answered the door.

“He is, although with all this noise, I cannot understand why he would want to be.”

Trevor waited for Ross to allow the manager to come in the room before he acted as if he had just done the same. He threw his arms into the sleeves of his dressing robe to cover his open shirt. He lifted his chin higher than his guest and found it wasn’t easy. “What is it?”

“Lord Coffman,” the visitor nervously jerked an overdone bow from his waist. “There’s a commotion downstairs caused by a young woman of the street.”

Trevor couldn’t help himself, “Of the street?” He did manage to hide his relief. He knew it was his Catherine but wondered about ‘of the street’.

“Yes sir, she’s dressed as a maid, caught sneaking through the downstairs window, but at this hour, what else could she possibly be? I ask you.”

“Why would this episode in your basement concern me?”

“Sir, she’s demanding to speak to your servant, Mr. Garrett. Quite frankly, I would have called the authorities but …”

“Yes?”

Mr. McBride sighed in frustration, “She’s locked herself into the necessary and the police would most likely bring reporters.” His nose rose another inch. “Lord Coffman, The Patterson will not be embarrassed on my watch.”

“No, of course not,” Trevor hid another smile. “Why don’t I send Mr. Garrett with you downstairs to see if he can be of assistance.”

Trevor didn’t have long to wait. Joann didn’t have to ball up more than one of her embroidered handkerchiefs and Jacob didn’t complete the notes he was writing before Ross returned with Catherine. Her enthusiastic hugs and kisses pleased everyone, especially Trevor since he was first.

Jacob had stood beside the writing desk and hugged her back when his turn arrived. “Well, my dear girl, two questions: where are your shoes and is everything tidy and well downstairs?” The laughter healed and helped the group relax into a circle of friendship and conversation.

Catherine stepped back and pulled a few papers from her blouse. “Please read these. I’ve serious concerns about both of the Pettigrew men. They’re violent.” Her hesitation brought Trevor’s attention and his hand to her neck and shoulders for a hug of encouragement. She continued, “They might be more organized than I had given them credit.” Her whisper sounded like an afterthought.

Jacob leaned forward to take his turn to read the papers. “Organized to what end?”

Catherine pointed to the insurance policies, “Why buy expensive life insurance on Mrs. Pettigrew when she has plenty of her own money, but even more curious is why buy a policy on Al Farrell?”

“Who is he?” Jacob asked.

“He’s the leader of the Charleston Four,” she could barely be heard, “The wonderful gentlemen who accidentally introduced me to the Garretts.” Her sarcasm soured her smile. “There’s only three now. One died in our swamp.”

“Oh, yes, I remember you had mentioned this on the train,” his eyebrows wrinkled. “How did you manage to rid the world of that one?”

“I’m not sure,” Trevor answered for her, “An unidentified bullet hit him before he could harm our dear girl. Anyway, that’s a good question, Catherine, and I have a strong assumption about the answer. There appears to be a lot more going on around us than we had first thought.”

Jacob laughed, “What else besides murder and kidnapping?”

Trevor started his pacing, “Catherine’s question about the policy on Mr. Farrell centers around the organization assumption. The Pettigrews need further investigation.” He stopped to stare out the window as he listened to the group behind him.

“Well, one thing is for sure. Catherine should not return to the Stafford’s or the Pettigrews”. Ross sat back in his spot next to Joann and held her hand. “Both Joann and Catherine need to be hidden if we still plan to retrieve the proof of her trust fund.”

Jacob put his hands behind head, leaned back and stared at the ornate ceiling. “I’ve been working on that. Do you fine folk remember the kitchen in the basement of the synagogue?”

Enough! (until later)