Whirlwind by Cathy Marie Hake Page B

sir, I might.”
    Was he thinking of Isabelle? Millicent couldn’t leave it to chance. “My sister is available.”
    “You have a sister?” Mr. Clark gave her an odd look.
    Millicent busied herself with spreading raspberry jam on the remaining wedge of Arthur’s toast. “Yes. Isabelle Quinsby.”
    “I can vouch for her, sir. She’s been engaged to do the laundry for your little boy and the Haxton child.”
    Millicent flashed Mr. Tibbs a smile of gratitude.
    Mr. Clark stared at the crust of bread he held. “Well, then, bring up Mrs. Quinsby.” He waited until the steward left. “Somehow, I deduced incorrectly that as a single woman, you were traveling alone.”
    “My sister, her husband, and I are all together.” She gave the food to Arthur and added a dollop of cream to his tiny bowl of oatmeal.
    Mr. Clark thoughtfully chewed and swallowed that last bite of toast. “When you asked if the position as my son’s nanny was strictly for the voyage, it wasn’t because you’re meeting a swain in America?”
    “No, sir. Adventure lies ahead for me. I plan to own a dress shop and be a woman of independent means.”
    “Quite a tall order, that. Opening a business requires significant start-up capital.”
    “That’s undoubtedly true. Frank, Isabelle, and I are committed to the venture.”
    “I’ve no doubt you’ll work hard.”
    “Thank you, sir.” She wiped a dab of jam from Arthur’s chin. “America is the land of opportunity, and we anticipate even a humble beginning can flourish with time and effort.”
    Mr. Clark reached for a rasher of his son’s bacon.
    “Mine!” Arthur grabbed it and scowled at him.
    Mr. Clark chortled. “You’re a good eater, aren’t you?”
    Arthur nodded. He didn’t put down the bacon and curled the stubby fingers of his other hand around his spoon. Half of the oatmeal plopped off before he got it to his mouth, but a gloating smile lifted Arthur’s mouth.
    The sound of a tap on the door accompanied its swinging open. “Mrs. Quinsby, sir.”
    Isabelle stepped into the suite.
    Millicent fought the urge to dash over and embrace her. Instead, she held out her hand. Isabelle came over and clasped it. “Mr. Clark, this is my sister, Mrs. Isabelle Quinsby.”
    He dipped his head. “Mrs. Quinsby.”
    “Sir.” Isabelle bobbed a curtsy.
    Millicent caught the cup of juice before Arthur knocked it over. “This is Arthur.”
    Isabelle stooped a bit and smiled. “Gracious, aren’t you a big boy!”
    Arthur grinned and thrust the bacon at her.
    “Why, thank you.” Isabelle tore the bacon in half and gave a piece back to the boy. “We can share.”
    “Tibbs, my son has invited Mrs. Quinsby to breakfast. See to it she has a tray.”
    “Yes, sir. At once.”
    Mr. Clark started toward the door. “It seems my son has an interesting method of conducting an interview.” He paused at the edge of the carpeting. “Miss Fairweather, feel free to pass the day as you will, but be sure to explain about my son’s visit to me. I’ll expect him at nine-thirty sharp as per usual.”
    Once the men left and shut the door, Millicent threw her arms around her sister. “It’s so good to see you!”
    “And you. It’s so good to see for myself that you’re okay.”
    “You’ve no worries over me. Arthur and I get along famously.”
    Isabelle scanned the parlor. “This is a grand arrangement.”
    “I feel guilty that you and Frank—”
    “I won’t listen to a word of that.” Isabelle frowned. “Because you’re up here, you’ve sent us good food each day. And with my doing the babies’ laundry, I earn twenty-five cents, wash up, and even do a bit of my own laundry. Truly, Millie, your landing this position was a boon for us all.”
    Millicent urged her sister to sit down and start eating. “I worry about your being alone, doing the wash. Are you safe?”
    Isabelle laughed. “Do you think any man is eager to be around dirty nappies?”
    “Now that you put it that way . . .”