'I had not thought your father to be the improvident sort.'
She shook her head, bitterly. 'You may lay the cause of our loss at Neville Tree's door,' she replied, with bitterness not even the savor of her dessert could remove from her mouth. The Professor had the grace to blush, then, for it was he who had introduced that scion of prominent politicians to the elder Hawkins.
He said nothing more, for indeed, there was no more to be said. For all of Neville Tree's illustrious parentage, the man was no better than a common sharpster. He had come looking for investors in his bank, and he got many, including Professor Hawkins; he then ran the bank into the ground with his poor management-all the while drawing a princely salary-leaving investors and depositors alike holding nothing but air and empty promises. Not content with that, he concocted another scheme, with many promises that he would get the money back and more-he would go and find oil and make them all rich. Throwing good money after bad, Professor Hawkins and others had fallen for his plausible tale a second time, and once again found themselves with shares of useless stock in a company that had drilled for oil where no geologist would ever anticipate finding any. Presumably he had taken himself to another state with more schemes designed mainly to allow him to draw a handsome wage at the expense of others.
Under the table, Rosalind's hand clenched on her napkin. When her father had told her of the loss of all of their savings and more, she had not had the heart to reproach him. 'I only wanted to give you what you should have had, Rose,' he had said plaintively...
'But the History Department Cathcart began again.'
'You know that none of them have ever approved of my I 'unwomanly' interests,' she retorted sourly. 'Doubtless, if they knew, they would be pleased enough, and advise me to go and get married like a proper female.'
As if any young man had ever, or would ever look twice at me. Plain, too clever by half, and with the curse of always saying what I think. That latter habit had gained her no friends among her fellow students, who could look elsewhere for romantic interests. Any man at the University can find himself a nice, stupid girl with good looks or money who will assure him he is the cleverest creature on earth. Why should he take one with neither who will challenge him to prove he is her equal?
'Your mother's people-' Cathcart ventured.
He knew nothing about her parents' relationship with her maternal grandparents-Professor Hawkins had been careful to keep that unsavory situation very private. It was natural for Cathcart to bring them up, but only the fact that she had already borne with so much already made it possible for her to bear this as well. 'They appeared the day of the funeral,' she said. I will not call those-creatures-my grandmother and grandfather. 'They insulted my father, slandered my mother, and told me that if I admitted some specious sort of guilt, agreed to be a good and obedient girl, and gave up my nonsense about a University degree, they might consider permitting me to take up some position within their household. I assume they meant for me to come be a drudge to Uncle Ingmar, and be grateful to them for the opportunity.'
Cathcart's expression grew horrified. 'Even when he was still sane, Ingmar Ivorsson was not fit company for a female, and certainly is not to be left alone with one!' he blurted.
She only nodded. 'I told them what I thought of them, what Mother had thought of them, and what they could do with Uncle Ingmar, and showed them the door.' That might have been what brought Mr. Grumwelt down upon my head with such uncanny swiftness. They probably went off and alerted every one of Papa's creditors. Did they expect me to come running to them as soon as the vultures arrived, begging forgiveness?
Cathcart gave her the ghost of a smile. 'So you have burned all your bridges, then. That was brave of you. Not necessarily wise, but-'
'Professor, that bridge is one I would not cross under any circumstances. I had rather take Charon's boat than the Ivorssons' offer.' She set her chin resolutely, but could not help a shudder of fear. Charon's boat ... it could come to that. She had contemplated suicide that very night, alone with her despair in the echoing house. She had more than enough laudanum in her valise to suffice....
But now the Professor's expression turned-calculating? Definitely! She had seen him look precisely like this when he was about to prove some obscure point, or had found a new research trail. She felt interest stirring in her, a feeling she had not experienced in days.
'I wanted to ascertain whether or not you had any other prospects,' he said, quietly, but still with that calculating look in his eyes. 'I have had a-well, a rather peculiar communication from a man in the West. It is so peculiar that I would not have advised that you consider it, unless you had no other recourse.'
Now her interest was surely piqued. 'Professor, what on earth are you hinting at?' she asked, sitting up a little straighter.
He reached into his coat pocket. 'Here,' he said, handing her a thick, cream-colored envelope. 'Read this for yourself.'
Obeying, she opened the envelope and set aside the thick railway ticket, and read the single sheet of thick vellum contained therein with growing perplexity. 'This-this is certainly strange,' she said, after a moment, folding the sheet and returning it to its paper prison. 'Very strange.' She slipped the railway ticket to San Francisco in beside it.
Cathcart nodded. 'I've had the man looked into, and from what I can find out, he's genuine enough. He's something of a rail baron on the West Coast and lives outside of San Francisco. The ticket is genuine; I telegraphed
