Page 111 of The Queen of Roses

Rather than turn on the light, she moved to the dark-red-and-mustard curtains and drew one back halfway. It was enough for a slice of sunshine to fall on the brown leather blotter and glint off the heavy glass inkwell on the desk.

She took a seat in Guy’s wood-and-leather chair and began opening drawers. She knew what the ledgers he used looked like, because a few times she’d brought him a cup of coffee to tide him over during the late nights he’d spent totaling up numbers.

She found them in the bottom right drawer of the desk, neatly stacked one on top of the other. She lifted the top one out and placed it on the blotter. The cover creaked in protest but then lay flat when she opened it. Flicking through the pages, she was astonished at how many entries there were for the month of January alone. Guy’s tailor, the expenses for her father’s funeral, regular orders of groceries from various establishments, entirely new wardrobes of black for Mama and herself, staff wages, new stationery with thick black borders to answer the mourning correspondence, the electricity bills, the gardeners’ wages both at the Gables and Rosewood House, the wine merchant’s order, improvements to the bedroom Margot had stayed in that had become Mama’s. The list went on and on. Adele continued turning the pages, taken aback by the incredible cost of her life with Guy. Surely they were not spending this much. It was almost… vulgar.

As soon as Mama’s word popped into her head, she shook it away. This was what it took to run a household like theirs in such a grand style.

Yet there were also entries she could not explain. Lines that merely read “cash” or, more ominously, “chit.” Were those entries records of the money Guy owed to other men? Were they his gambling debts? They totted up to hundreds of dollars in a single month.

What was Guy doing?

Between the next pages, she discovered a letter. She unfolded it and found herself looking at a letter from Guy’s banker.

Somerson & Hart

0 E. Colorado Street

Pasadena

March 12, 1907

Dear Mr. Whitley,

I am sorry to inform you that your request for a line of credit to be extended against your account will not be possible. Your additional inquiry about the possibility of taking out a mortgage against the Andalusian or Colorado Grand Hotels will also be impossible, as you already have one mortgage against each. I would remind you that payment on both mortgages is due on the first of the month.

My only other recommendation if you are in great need to raise money quickly would be to mortgage the Gables. I would advise, however, that this will mean considerable risk to the security of the property, given that it is a private residence and does not throw off an income the way your hotels do.

I would be happy to further discuss matters with you should you desire it. Please write to my secretary, who will be able to arrange an appointment.

Yours respectfully,

Mr. Julian Somerson

There must be a mistake. Guy didn’t have a mortgage on the Andalusian. He had proudly told her of that fact when they had been married. And it was the income from the Andalusian that had funded the first round of building on the Colorado Grand before Guy had brought in investors. He had told her that if he handled matters that way, it would be easier to maintain control of the hotel and not worry about what his investors wanted.

“If they have more money in their pockets than they started with, they’ll be happy,” he’d said with a laugh.

She set the letter aside carefully and continued reading. When she turned the page, she saw an entry that made her stomach drop. Halfway down, on March eighteenth, was a line marked “Earl” and next to it the sum of one thousand dollars.

Not only did Guy know Mr. Earl, he knew exactly why the man had appeared at his door.

She flipped through the pages faster now, scanning Guy’s handwriting for more mentions of Mr. Earl’s name. She found the next one on April fourteenth and the following on May fifteenth.

Page after page, she searched until she came to August. There was no entry for Mr. Earl there. She checked again. Nothing in September, and neither was there anything in October.

There was a bump somewhere in the house, and Adele immediately refolded the letter, slipped it back between the correct pages, and slammed the book shut. She shoved the ledger back in the desk, closed the drawer, and rose, making sure the chair was exactly as she had found it. Then she let herself out into the corridor, her heart hammering in her chest.

It was not until she was in her bedroom that she let the thoughts that had been fighting for freedom in her mind unfurl.

Had Guy, finding himself denied another loan from another bank, borrowed money from Mr. Earl? If that was so, perhaps the payments had stopped in August because the loan was paid back, but then why had Mr. Earl shown up on her doorstep insisting that Guy owed him money? And most importantly, if Guy had been making payments of a thousand dollars to Mr. Earl for months, how much money exactly had he borrowed from the man?

chapter forty-three ADELE

Adele intended to stay in her bedroom all day, waiting for Guy to come home. However, around half past two, she heard Mrs. Jarrett’s swift rap on the door.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Whitley, but Mrs. Barnes asks whether you are home,” said Mrs. Jarrett.

Normally Adele would have been eager to see her friend, but she couldn’t find the joy in learning the news of what was happening in Pasadena society now. Not when she was so weighed down by worry.