A Desire to Hide Part Seventeen

This time it was Ms. Seay who answered the door, not her mother. That was a huge relief for Peter, who had been worried about what he might say to her parents, if he was faced with either one. He could not separate from his mind the image of Mr. Seay with a gun, even though it had been Charles Hendely who had placed the image there and he would be far happier if he could forget everything that Charles had ever said to him.

“I have no wish to speak to you,” said Charity Seay, beginning to close the door again once she saw who it was. Peter hurriedly swept off his hat and rushed to say what he had come to say before she could close it completely.

“I beg to speak to you for a moment, only a few moments of your time, please Ms. Seay,” he added plaintively. “I know that you have little reason to trust me but I assure you that it will be well worth it for you to hear me out.” Perhaps it was his tone of voice but Charity Seay did indeed pause on the door step rather than close the door completely. Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out several of the scraps of the letters. “I have come to return these letters to their rightful owner, and beg your forgiveness for ever threatening you with their existence.” Charity Seay took one of the scraps of papers from him and stared at it for a long moment, as if doubtful that what she was seeing was real. Finally she turned to head back into the house and for a moment Peter was terrified that that was going to be all of the thanks he would get for having lost so much.

“You had best come in, Mr. Wells, so we can talk,” she said, and his heart gave a bound. It strangely felt as if a life long ambition had been for her to invite him in. He found himself once again in the parlor of the house, the scraps of letter piled on the table between them, and Charity staring at them. She was clearly unsure of what to make of these events. What she finally did say was so unexpected and vicious that it shook Peter entirely out of the warm haze he had been enjoying since she had asked him in.

“What is it that you expect from this day’s work, Mr. Wells?” she asked.

“Nothing,” stammered Peter.

“I doubt that Charles Hendely will thank you.”

“I have given him my notice,” Peter said, though it was not something that he had meant to divulge. The last thing that he wished was to do was to make her think that he was in some way trying to make her feel guilty.

“That will not place food on your table,” she pointed out. It was almost as if she disapproved of him doing what he considered to be the right thing. It goaded Peter into saying something that he had certainly not intended to say.

“I thank you for your concern, but I have done what I did out of my esteem for you. I should like nothing more than you have permission to call on you more often. I would be your friend.”

“You read the letters, Mr. Wells?” asked Charity, her voice cold.

“I am sorry, but yes, I did,” said Peter, ashamed, and bewildered by what she meant by the question after his deceleration of loyalty.

“You are entirely mistaken if you think me a woman of easy virtue, Mr. Wells. The only reason why I allowed my honor to be compromised was because he promised me marriage, and while I was foolish then, I have no intention of being so foolish again.” The realization of what Charity thought of him hit Peter and he found that he was amazingly angry. He had done so much, probably far more than he ought to have, and she thought that the entire reason was because he had read the letters and had thought that she would sleep with him.

“If you doubt my intentions then introduce me to your father,” said Peter, the blood rushing to his head and making him bold and impulsive, though it was not as if either trait was foreign to him in any case. For years he had been keeping some control on his impulsive nature by thinking of his sisters, but now he had another consideration. He had realized himself in love, and just with all other things in life, he wished it to go as he pleased as quickly as possible. He had no shortage of energy. “I will ask for your hand from him, and put an end to all of your doubts about my intentions.”

“You would not,” said Charity, looking taken aback.

“Where is he?” asked Peter, standing and looking about as if he expected her father to appear from behind the drapes. While the whole thing might have been a shock to Charity, it had been building somewhere in the back of his mind almost as soon as he had met her, and now it exploded. “Do you have a church that you attend? We can go today to ask the minister if he will marry us.”

“The priest,” corrected Charity, sounding dazed.

“You are Catholic?” asked Peter, and he gave her a dazzling smile. “An amazing coincidence, so am I.”

“I fear you are having great fun at my expense,” said Charity.

“I assure you, I would not dare. What man would dare make such an offer, if it was not good in faith, to a woman already suing one gentleman for breach of promise. Your reputation would not be likely to suffer more for a second suite. As I could not afford any lawsuit, having thrown my career in little scraps of paper at your feet, I assure you that I am earnest. I humbly beseech you to become my bride. I have my mother’s ring, we can use that. Oh, and I suppose you will need a week or so to get your things together. I know very little about such things but my sisters assure me a woman must have household goods that she brings with her. Oh, yes, my sisters, you will have to meet my sisters,” Peter added, it was almost an after thought.

A Desire to Hide Part Sixteen

A storm rolled across the city as Peter walked the short distance from the office to Charles’s rooms, in the esteemed company of that gentleman. It did nothing to add to the comfort of the day, which was oppressively hot again, as the last several days had been. Instead the water steamed on the streets, and on the people it drenched. Peter could feel his cotton undershirt become itchy, and almost unbearable, but if he excused himself to go home now, he was concerned that he would not get another such opportunity. Neither he or Charles had brought an umbrella, it having been so dry the several days previous that no one had even considered rain a possibility. Charles did not seem any more comfortable than Peter, and they half ran to his rooms where Charles excused himself into his bedroom for a moment to change. Peter, who did not have such a chance, was forced to stand in the parlor and wait. He was not willing to sit down and risk spoiling the fine upholstery on the chairs next to the unlit fireplace.
“Here you are, old chap,” said Charles, coming out finally in a smoking jacket and carrying a bundle of letters. Peter, still not daring to sit in one of the chairs, instead stood at the mantel to read them. Charles himself lounged in on of the arm chairs and looked amazingly smug. Peter tried his best to ignore him, he was worried that if he paid him too much attention he might want to punch him.
Peter had dreaded the contents of the letters, being much afraid that they might be so scandalous that he would find he could no longer think of Charity Seay in the manner in which he had since meeting her. This was not the case however. It was true that they were very incautious, and certainly likely to cause a scandal if they were printed, but they were all written to her dearest, and first love, Charles. They were not the letters of a fast woman, or a woman after money and power through Charles’s family. Instead they were all of the proof that Peter needed, had he needed any additional proof, that Charity had truly believed that she was going to marry Charles, that she had been in love with him while he had toyed with her. As Peter read each letter he was careful to not refold them or place them in their envelops. Instead he placed each one flat in a stack on the mantel. As he finished reading the last one he could not help himself he turned and grinned at Charles.
“Good, are they not? I am rather fond of the one where she speaks of how she enjoyed our time together in the parlor, about how I gave her such happiness, she could hardly contain it. The whore,” Charles added. Peter nodded, he had read that passage several times before putting that letter with the others.
So Charity had been indiscreet, the letters made that very plain. He had thought that learning such a thing might cool his ardor for her, and had promised himself that if such was the case he would walk away from it all and pretend none of this had ever happened. Instead however, he found the fact only made him more angry and determined. She had thought of Charles as her husband, and she had given him everything, and he had betrayed her. Yes, she had been innocent, naive, and over eager, but then she was practically at an age where she was destined to be an old maid, and suddenly a wealthy man had shown an interest in her. That was something that stories were made of. Peter made his decision, he snatched up the letters from the mantel, and before Charles could stop him, he ripped them in half. Having stacked them as he had, by the time that Charles was out of his seat, Peter had shredded them even more. Bits of them floated through the air, but most of them he shoved into his pockets. He would have been happier had there been a fire that he could throw them into, but that could come latter. What was important right now was that Charles knew the letters to be destroyed.
“I shall give my notice to your father tomorrow,” Peter said. “My month is up in two weeks time however, and I will stay on until then. Be assured that if you in any way interfere with me during that time, or attempt to prevent your father from giving me references, I will be forced to tell him about what you intended to do with these letters. He is an honorable man, and I doubt he would condone either your use of the letters, or what they contain in them. I remember that you have a younger brother, it might be well to insure that he is not the only one remembered in your father’s will.”
“You resort to blackmail then?” said Charles, sinking back into his chair now and looking at Peter with great scorn.
“When I am dealing with a blackmailer,” said Peter, trying to make an equal show of outward calm. He wished that he could simply resign from his position and leave, but references were important and he would never get them if he left suddenly. He did have sisters to support after all, and he already had some doubts about his ability to get an immediate job. The gauntlet had been thrown however, and the challenge issued. He supposed he could only consider himself lucky that he was not of Charles’s social set, or a far more formal challenge to duel might have been the response. As it was however, Charles would never duel a man who was so much lower than he was. Charles would never consider Peter to be a gentleman.
Charles had meant to return home after the meeting with Charles, and to write to Charity Seay the next day to tell her what he had done. He found he could not stand the idea of more waiting however. No matter how improper it might be, he needed to see her. He suspected that he would have to resist the urge to throw himself at her feet, the way that men did in some of the romantic books Ann did, and beg her for forgiveness. His mind rebelled at that image, but at least he could hold out the scraps of her letters as an offering, and perhaps she would look on him with some favor. He wished it was something more appropriate, like a necklace.