Love on Assignment Read online

  PRAISE FOR CARA LYNN JAMES

  “Cara Lynn James brings the early 1900s alive with this tender inspirational love story. Her cast of delightful characters will warm your heart and stay with you long after you’ve turned the last page.”

  —MARGARET BROWNLEY, author of A Lady Like Sarah,

  regarding Love on a Dime

  “A charming peek inside life during the Gilded era. Highly recommended.”

  —COLLEEN COBLE, best-selling author of The Lightkeeper’s Daughter,

  regarding Love on a Dime

  “James’ debut novel is filled with romance, laughter and secrets, which will delight fans of historical romance. The characters are well defined and try to be true to themselves with unexpected results. Readers will look forward to the next Ladies of Summerhill installment. Four stars.”

  —ROMANTIC TIMES review of Love on a Dime

  “Love on a Dime is a touching, well-written novel whispering the theme that all things are possible with God.”

  —CBA RETAILERS AND RESOURCES

  LOVE ON ASSIGNMENT

  ALSO BY CARA LYNN JAMES

  Love on a Dime

  LOVE ON

  ASSIGNMENT

  CARA LYNN JAMES

  © 2010 by Cara Lynn James

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are taken from the KING JAMES VERSION.

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  James, Cara Lynn, 1949–

  Love on assignment / Cara Lynn James.

  p. cm. — (Ladies of Summerhill novel ; 2)

  ISBN 978-1-59554-680-7 (pbk.)

  1. Secretaries—Fiction. 2. Newspaper editors—Fiction. 3.Governesses—Fiction.

  4. College teachers—Fiction. 5. Newport (R.I.)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3610.A4284L683 2011

  813'.6—dc22

  2010039680

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 11 12 13 14 15 RRD 6 5 4 3 2 1

  TO MY TWO ADULT CHILDREN, JUSTIN AND ALICIA

  SLAUGHTER, WITH ALL MY LOVE

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  ONE

  NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND

  July 1900

  Charlotte Hale’s legs, hidden beneath her long serge skirt, wobbled like a newborn colt’s. But she pinned on a confident smile and gazed directly into her boss’s dark granite eyes.

  “Please be seated, Miss Hale. We have something important to discuss.” He gave her a curt nod as he loomed behind his polished mahogany desk, an engraved nameplate resting on the edge. Arnold Phifer, Editor.

  Dressed in his well-tailored navy suit and silk vest, he stared at her as if assessing her value. A cherrywood pipe protruded beneath a white handlebar mustache, waxed to stiff perfection.

  She slid into the chair across from the middle-aged editor of the Rhode Island Reporter, stenography pad in hand. In the three years she’d worked at the newspaper, Mr. Phifer had never once summoned her to his private office which overlooked the bustling Thames Street, except for dictation.

  He pulled the pipe from his mouth and placed it in an ashtray beside a ceramic jar of tobacco. “Miss Hale”—his bushy brows drew together across his pink forehead—“I’m impressed with your work.”

  She raised her eyebrows. Impressed with her typing or shorthand skills? What exactly singled her out? Accurate spelling, perfect grammar? Surely not. He’d always taken her for granted, never once praising her.

  “Thank you, sir.” The man seldom handed out compliments to anyone, especially unmerited ones.

  “I have a choice assignment for you, Miss Hale.” He spoke with a soft slur, easy on the ears. “You still want to be a reporter, don’t you?”

  Every nerve in her body tingled. “Yes, I most definitely do. I’ve always wanted to become a journalist.” To date, Mr. Phifer had never allowed any woman at his newspaper rise to a position higher than secretary.

  “I figured you hadn’t changed your mind. You’ve certainly pestered me enough about giving you a chance. And now I have just the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Phifer.”

  He smoothed a few errant strands of hair that were combed over his balding pate. “I presume you’ve heard of Daniel Wilmont.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Of course. He’s the Bible professor at Aquidneck College who writes a religion column for the Newport Gazette. I understand he’s quite controversial.”

  Mr. Phifer glared at the competition’s newspaper lying open on his desk. If his eyes could burn holes, the Newport Gazette would burst into flames.

  He pointed to Professor Wilmont’s column and then slammed his index finger against the newsprint. “Do you read his propaganda?”

  “Sometimes, sir. I like to keep up with all the news.”

  His eyes narrowed. Was he considering her with a tinge more respect? “Then you know the man’s a menace to every hardworking entrepreneur in New England. He misuses Scripture to condemn tried-and-true business practices that benefit everyone, employer and employee alike. He’s a fire-breathing rabble-rouser.”

  Charlotte suppressed a nervous giggle at Mr. Phifer’s hyperbole. She knew little about the Bible, or standard business practices, so she accepted Mr. Phifer’s words as basically true, even if inflamed.

  “I want to stop him from spreading his lies across this great state. He’s an agitator bent on destroying democracy and free enterprise.”

  Charlotte squirmed on the wooden chair as her boss built up a head of steam. Perhaps she should read the professor’s column more carefully to better understand the basis for Mr. Phifer’s fury. The articles she’d read sounded more like sermons than diatribes, but Mr. Phifer, as a seasoned newspaperman, was certainly the expert.

  “I want you, Miss Hale, to help cut the professor down to size. Show the world he’s not the savior people think he is.”

  “Me?” she murmured. She shifted forward, every muscle taut.

  “Yes, Miss Hale. I have a plan and you’re a vital part of it.” He leaned his palms against the desk and thrust his head toward her. His suit coat flared at the lapels, revealing suspenders that hoisted up perfectly pressed trousers. “One of my professor friends at the college mentioned that W
ilmont needs a temporary governess for his two children. His mother has taken ill.”

  Charlotte felt her eyes widen as she listened, not understanding where this was leading.

  He paused, probably for dramatic effect. “I want you to fill the position and then investigate Wilmont, from the inside, for improprieties. You have an interview set for this afternoon. Are you up to the task?”

  Charlotte’s throat went dry. The man had hinted for some time that he might give a girl a chance. “But she’d have to show exceptional talent and industry,” he’d said. “Yes ma’am, exceptional talent and industry. You hear me?”

  She shook her head, forcing herself back to the present. The time was now. He was giving her a chance! “Yes, of course, sir. I’m ready, willing, and able.” And humbled that her boss considered her experienced enough for such a plum assignment. Of course she held the dubious title of senior secretary, so she was the likely pick. She imagined the new hire, Edith Ann Wengle, would give her eye teeth, and possibly every other tooth, too, for this assignment. Most of the other typists were content to work at their machines all day, but not Edith Ann, Charlotte’s only serious competitor for advancement to the ranks of the reporters.

  He nodded. “Good. I’m glad to hear you will consider it.”

  But even as he said it, Charlotte wondered if she really wanted a clandestine mission. She’d never attempted anything on the cloak-and-dagger front. Was she suited for such high adventure? She’d always assumed she’d be a levelheaded, straight shooter of a reporter. And to be less than honest with the professor didn’t seem quite right.

  Yet if his ideas were as harmful as Mr. Phifer claimed, then her efforts would serve the community.

  With overwhelming debts to pay, she couldn’t possibly refuse Mr. Phifer’s offer.

  “But what shall I do—exactly—once I’m hired?” If I’m hired.

  Mr. Phifer lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’re to search for evidence against Daniel Wilmont. Look for his weaknesses and vices. Find his Achilles’ heel. Do you understand what I’m asking?”

  He wanted her to spy on a religious fanatic, an enemy of the American way of life. This was indeed a worthy endeavor for herself and for the publication. If she could pull it off, she would make an instant name for herself. She’d have a career. A future. As one of the first female journalists anywhere. But as appealing as a journalism career might be, it didn’t compare to the importance of paying off bills. She needed that peace of mind.

  Mr. Phifer waited for her answer, his head thrust forward.

  “I understand and I accept the assignment, sir.”

  “Well done, young woman. Together, we’ll discredit Professor Wilmont and put a halt to his despicable blather.” He slammed his fist against his desktop, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

  Taken aback by his sudden ferocity, Charlotte swallowed hard and kept silent as he went on with his plans.

  Her boss wanted to force Professor Wilmont to quit his column in disgrace. An unsavory taste coated her tongue, but she couldn’t form the words to decline the mission she’d just accepted. Mr. Phifer would toss her out the door if she ever gave voice to her moral scruples.

  With her sister’s disability requiring expensive doctor visits for which she struggled to pay, she needed her job. At this very moment, a stack of unpaid bills lay in the top drawer of her dresser where Aunt Amelia and Becky wouldn’t see them. There was no need for anyone else to fret. She did enough worrying for all of them.

  And even more pressing, she owed a small fortune for the new roof on their old house. Patching had sufficed for only so long before rain finally leaked through the ceiling into the upstairs bedrooms. And Mr. Knowles, the roofer, possessed little patience with her extended payment plan. She didn’t blame him, but she couldn’t hand over money she didn’t have.

  Mr. Phifer flashed a satisfied grin. “You’ll be generously rewarded for your success, young woman. I see a bright future in store for you at the Rhode Island Reporter.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Phifer. I appreciate the opportunity to help—and to advance at the newspaper.”

  “A career in journalism is entirely possible, Miss Hale, if you find the evidence I need.”

  Despite reservations that nibbled on the edge of her conscience, Charlotte beamed, unable to contain her excitement. She liked her job well enough, though pounding keys on a typing machine didn’t stimulate her intellect. Eventually she hoped to write substantive articles on important subjects, but to do that, she’d have to please her boss first. Mr. Phifer dangled a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to distinguish herself and shine. And he’d practically promised a better salary would accompany a promotion.

  Somehow she’d treat Professor Wilmont in a fair and unbiased manner. She would ferret out the facts and report the truth like a competent reporter.

  A niggling fear gripped her mind. Would he appreciate her efforts no matter what the results? Or would he fire the person who brought him news he didn’t wish to hear? “But what if I don’t find anything untoward?”

  Charlotte winced as Mr. Phifer’s face shook with a nasty laugh.

  “You’ll find something damaging, I assure you. Daniel Wilmont has plenty to hide. Report to me every few days, if possible, or as soon as you find any incriminating evidence. I know you’ll make me proud.”

  “I shall do my very best. You can count on me, sir.” Charlotte forced enthusiasm into her voice, hoping this assignment would prove as advantageous as she expected.

  “Excellent. I have another lead I’m pursuing, but at the present time, I’m not at liberty to divulge anything more. Mum’s the word.” But then he leaned closer and lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “I can tell you this much, I’ve heard a rumor about the professor and a young female student. This could be scandalous! If this information pans out, I’ll inform you of all the details and you can verify the facts.”

  “Of course.” This was the most concrete lead her boss had given her. “He must be a dishonorable man,” she murmured.

  “He is, indeed. Keep your eyes peeled for shameful behavior.”

  Charlotte nodded, uneasy about putting so much stock in unconfirmed rumors. “I shall. About how long will this investigation take, Mr. Phifer?”

  His eyes squeezed to a narrow glint. “The sooner you finish, the better. I anticipate you’ll be done in a week or two at the most. Remember, I want frequent updates on your progress—every few days if you can manage it.”

  Charlotte gulped. She hoped to succeed within a matter of days. She’d sweep in and out like a whirlwind—that was her plan. “How shall I get time away from the child—or children—to look around, if I’m to be a governess?”

  “You’ll find a way, I’m sure. Use your ingenuity.” Mr. Phifer nodded his dismissal.

  “Sir, there’s one more thing.” She clutched her hands to keep them from shaking. “Would you be able to increase my salary by a few dollars every week—at least while I’m on this assignment? I’m afraid I’ve accumulated some bills of late. I need to pay them as soon as possible.” He’d probably think her impertinent to ask, but she needed to just the same.

  He emitted a chuckle. “So you’ve spent too much on trifles, have you? Pretty ribbons and trinkets, I presume. Well, I’ll tell you what, Miss Hale. If you find the evidence I expect, then I’ll give you a mighty fine raise.”

  Even if he didn’t agree to a specific amount and mischaracterized her need as personal indulgence, gratitude for her new assignment filled her heart. “Thank you, Mr. Phifer.”

  “I’ve set up an interview for an hour from now and I’ve hired a hack cab to drive you to Summerhill, the Wilmonts’ cottage on Ocean Drive. Good luck. Don’t let me down.”

  “I assure you, I’ll do my very best.”

  Mr. Phifer snapped a nod and a smile. “Good. Now, let’s write you some references. Whom do you suggest?”

  “My Aunt Amelia, and possibly Mr. Stapleton, my former English teacher.
In fact, he wrote one for me when I applied for this job. Should I contact him?”

  “No, there’s not enough time. I’ll check and see if we still have his recommendation on file.” He quickly located Mr. Stapleton’s letter and then frowned. “This will do nicely except for the date. 1895. Hmm. That’s hard to change to 1900, so I’ll just turn the five into an eight.” He took a fountain pen and carefully altered the number. “If the professor questions the date, tell him Mr. Stapleton wrote it two years ago, and you didn’t wish to bother him for a newer version.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We need one more reference. I’ll have Miss Wengle write one up.”

  Within minutes Charlotte left on her first assignment toward a new, fascinating career in journalism.

  TEN MINUTES LATER Charlotte climbed aboard the hired carriage for the ride to Summerhill. They drove out of town toward Ocean Drive, the winding road that hugged the coast for ten scenic miles. The buggy swayed past showy mansions set among the lonely stretches of road edged by jagged rocks. Surf crashed against the boulders and burst into a spray of liquid gems. Although she’d lived in Newport for all of her twenty-two years, she’d never before seen the famed Ocean Drive. It was far too expensive to hire a hack cab just to sightsee on a Sunday afternoon.

  Of course, she’d heard countless tales about the estates and their fabled owners. These showplace mansions, always called cottages by their owners, were occupied only for the summer and designed specifically for lavish entertainment—and truth be told, mainly to impress other millionaires. Charlotte didn’t know what the wealthy thought of them, but the magnificent homes certainly impressed her.

  The horse slowed his pace, turned down a pebbled drive, and the carriage rolled toward a white-shingled mansion rising upon a gentle knoll. Charlotte drew in a deep breath, held it for a long moment, then let it seep out. Though smaller and probably older than many of the more ostentatious residences lining Bellevue Avenue, Summerhill conveyed a hominess that set her slightly more at ease. Striped awnings with scalloped edges flapped in the breeze and seemed to wave a welcome.