“He is a servant hired for the evening.”
Samuel’s face changed slightly.
Eleanor looked toward his black livery.
Then at her father.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“He is a man you were willing to discuss when you believed he could not answer.”
Charles said nothing.
Eleanor turned toward Samuel.
“Please.”
Samuel hesitated.
He had imagined reaching her.
He had not imagined walking through the Harrow mansion beside her while half of Boston watched.
“I have more documents.”
Eleanor nodded.
“Bring them.”
Mr. Pike whispered:
“Miss Harrow, his employment—”
“I will pay the household for the remaining hours.”
Samuel almost smiled.
Charles did not.
Eleanor led them into her father’s library.
Henry followed.
Charles entered last and closed the door hard enough to shake the glass.
For several seconds no one spoke.
The library smelled of leather, smoke, and cedar.
A portrait hung above the fireplace.
Two young men stood beside a ship.
Charles at perhaps twenty-eight.
Beside him another man.
Dark-haired.
Thin.
One hand resting on a coil of rope.
Eleanor had seen the painting her whole life.
She had never asked who the second man was.
Now she knew.
Samuel saw it too.
“My father.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“Yes.”
Charles walked toward the drinks table.
“You have made your spectacle.”
Samuel stared.
“You made it.”
Charles poured brandy.
Henry spoke.
“Mr. Harrow, perhaps everyone should sit.”
Charles ignored him.
“You.”
He pointed toward Samuel.
“What exactly do you want?”
Samuel took a small packet from inside his coat.
He had wrapped it in oilcloth to protect it from snow.
“I want the original partnership ledger opened.”
Charles laughed.
“No.”
“I want the March 1813 account examined.”
“No.”
“I want my father’s name restored in the company history.”
Charles drank.
“And money.”
Samuel looked at him.
Charles smiled bitterly.
“There it is.”
Samuel’s expression hardened.
“Yes.”
That answer surprised him.
Samuel continued.
“If the accounts show his redeemed share remained his property, then yes.”
“I want what the records say his family was owed.”
Charles laughed.
“After fifteen years?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea what you are asking?”
“Enough to know you are afraid to show me the book.”
Charles slammed the glass down.
“I saved that firm.”
Samuel did not flinch.
“Then the book should prove it.”
Eleanor looked between them.
“What happened?”
Charles stared into the fire.
Samuel answered first.
“In 1811, my father owned thirty-five percent of Harrow & Mercer.”
Charles turned.
“It was not thirty-five by then.”
Samuel pulled one document free.
“Partnership amendment.”
Charles’s eyes narrowed.
Samuel placed it on the desk.
“April 1809.”
Eleanor moved closer.
Two signatures.
CHARLES HARROW.
ELIAS MERCER.