Read Online The Revelation of Louisa May by Michaela MacColl - Free Book Online

down the alley. Louisa wondered if Mr. Pryor was quite safe. If Finch threatened him with exposure, would Pryor keep their confidences?
    Louisa started purposefully toward the general store to rejoin Marmee when a voice called her name from the porch of the new Middlesex Hotel. Reluctantly, Louisa halted and watched Miss Whittaker come down the front steps. Dodging a carriage and a farm wagon laden with straw, she made a beeline for Louisa.
    Miss Whittaker was slender, with the graceful neck of a swan. Her dark hair tumbled down her back in ringlets that appeared loose but were actually carefully arranged. Her traveling dress was of a royal blue and was corseted to make her waist appear tiny. Louisa envied the rich fabric, if not the corset. She smoothed her own skirt, wishing the scorch marks from when she stood too close to the fire didn’t show up so much on the pale cloth.
    Louisa plastered a fake smile on her face. “Good morning, Miss Whittaker.”
    â€œDear Louisa!” Miss Whittaker gushed. “Is it true? Your mother is leaving us?” Her arms were as outstretched as the tight sleeves of her dress allowed. Louisa imperceptibly stepped away from the possibility of any embrace. A furrow appeared between Miss Whittaker’s eyebrows, then disappeared. Miss Whittaker dropped her elegant hands to her sides. “When does Mrs. Alcott leave?” she asked.
    â€œIn less than an hour,” Louisa said. “She’s doing some last-minute shopping. So if you’ll excuse me . . .”
    â€œOf course. And please be sure to tell her that she needn’t worry about dear Mr. Alcott. I’ll drop in every day to make sure he is coping without her.”
    â€œI’m perfectly capable of taking care of my father,” Louisa said sharply, ignoring Miss Whittaker’s lips pursing. “It’s not necessary for you to bother him while he is writing.”
    Miss Whittaker tried another tack. “And he must write, write, write! My investors want only the best essays.”
    Louisa’s attention sharpened at the word “investors.” “Miss Whittaker, I hope you aren’t expecting any financial contribution to your magazine from my father.” Thank goodness Marmee wasn’t here to scold Louisa for her presumption. But Marmee had left her in charge—the sooner she started, the better.
    â€œOf course not,” Miss Whittaker assured her. “His contribution is his name and reputation. And Mr. Emerson’s and Mr. Thoreau’s, of course. My investors are confident that they will recoup their money.”
    â€œHow much have you raised?” Louisa asked.
    Miss Whittaker’s eyes narrowed, and she answered grudgingly. “Nearly a thousand dollars so far. Enough to fund several issues of my new magazine.” She fingered one of her ringlets, almost purring with satisfaction.
    â€œA thousand?” Louisa repeated faintly. “And how much of that will go to the writers?”
    â€œAt first, nothing. But as soon as we are established, then we will pay the writers very well indeed.”
    â€œBut without their essays, you have no magazine,” Louisa argued. “They should be paid from the start.”
    â€œMr. Alcott assured me that that would not be necessary,” Miss Whittaker said.
    Louisa sighed. That, unfortunately, had the ring of truth.
    Mr. Finch emerged from the alley alone and headed straight for Louisa. “Miss Alcott, I don’t think we finished our conversation.”
    Miss Whittaker turned to the new arrival and Louisa was surprised to see her porcelain complexion whiten like bone.
    â€œWon’t you introduce me to your friend?” Finch said, coming face-to-face with Miss Whittaker. He stepped back in surprise. “Edith? Is that you? Edith Climpson?”
    Miss Whittaker touched Louisa’s arm to steady herself. “Whittaker,” Miss Whittaker said hurriedly. “My name is