I do not make this statement lightly or out of sentiment. History has shown that the least expected among us often emerge splendidly because of the grave responsibilities placed upon them. I ask you to consider this possibility.
I further ask you to give deep consideration to what Mr. Matthew Canfield will tell you. I trust him. I do so because he has saved my life and nearly lost his own in so doing. His interests and ours are inextricably bound together. He will tell you what he can and he will ask of you a great deal.
I am a very, very old woman, my dear, and do not have much time. What months or years I do have (precious perhaps only to me) may well be cut short in a fashion I’d like to believe is not the will of God. Naturally, I accept this risk gladly as the head of the house of Scarlatti, and if I can spend what time I have left preventing a great dishonor upon our family, I will join my husband with a grateful heart.
Through Mr. Canfield, I await your answer. If it is as I suspect, we will be together shortly and you will have gladdened me far beyond that which I deserve. If it is not, you still have my affection and, believe me when I say, my understanding.
Elizabeth Wyckham Scarlatti
Canfield replaced the letter in the envelope. It was quite good, he thought again. It explained nothing and asked for implicit trust that the unsaid explanation was vitally urgent. If he did his job, the girl would be coming back to England with him. If he failed to persuade her, an alternative would have to be found.
The Ulster Scarlett brownstone on Fifty-fourth Street was being repainted and sandblasted. There were several scaffolds lowered from the roof and a number of workmen diligently at their crafts. The heavy Checker cab pulled up in front of the entrance and Matthew Canfield walked up the steps. He rang the bell; the door was opened by the obese housekeeper.
“Good afternoon, Hannah. I don’t know if you remember, but my name’s Canfield. Matthew Canfield to see Mrs. Scarlett.”
Hannah did not budge or offer entrance. “Does Mrs. Scarlett expect you?”
“Not formally, but I’m sure she’ll see me.” He had had no intention of phoning. It would have been too easy for her to refuse.
“I don’t know if madame is in, sir.”
“Then I’ll just have to wait. Shall it be here on the stairs?”
Hannah reluctantly made way for the field accountant to step into the hideously colored hallway. Canfield was struck again by the intensity of the red wallpaper and the black drapes.
“I’ll inquire, sir,” said the housekeeper as she started toward the stairs.
In a few minutes Janet came down the long staircase, followed by a waddling Hannah. She was very much composed. Her eyes were clear, aware, and devoid of the panic he had remembered. She was in command and without question a beautiful woman.
Canfield felt a sudden sting of inferiority. He was outclassed.
“Why, Mr. Canfield, this is a surprise.”
He could not determine whether her greeting was meant to be pleasant or not. It was friendly, but cool and reserved. This girl had learned the lessons of the old money well.
“I hope not an unwelcome one, Mrs. Scarlett.”
“Not at all.”
Hannah had reached the bottom step and walked toward the dining room doors. Canfield quickly spoke again. “During my trip I ran across a fellow whose company makes dirigibles. I knew you’d be interested.” Canfield watched Hannah out of the corner of his eye without moving his head. Hannah had turned abruptly and looked at the field accountant.
“Really, Mr. Canfield? Why would that concern me?” The girl was mystified.
“I understood your friends on Oyster Bay were determined to buy one for their club. Here, I’ve brought all the information. Purchase price, rentals, specifications, the works.… Let me show you.”
The field accountant took Janet Scarlett’s elbow and led her swiftly toward the living room doors. Hannah hesitated ever so slightly but, with a glance from Canfield, retreated into the dining room. Canfield then closed the living room doors.
“What are you doing? I don’t want to buy a dirigible.”
The field accountant stood by the doors, motioning the girl to stop talking.
“What?”
“Be quiet for a minute. Please.” He spoke softly.
Canfield waited about ten seconds and then opened the doors in one swinging motion.
Directly across the hallway, standing by the dining room table, was Hannah and a man in white overalls, obviously one of the painters. They were talking while looking over toward the living room doors. They were now in full view of Canfield’s stare. Embarrassed, they moved away.
Canfield shut the door and turned to Janet Scarlett. “Interesting, isn’t it?”