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Shockingly high, but the attorney came highly recommended.”
    At the mention of Clara’s name, Daniel jerked to attention and his gaze darted to the stack of newspaper clippings on the table. He scanned them quickly. He’d already heard of her deportation, of course. That had made the newspapers here in Baltimore. When she had proven herself as a writer in London, Reverend Endicott began publishing his daughter’s articles about the horror of child labor in The Christian Crusade . Now Clara was another glittering ornament on the Endicott family tree, just as her father had wished.
    Naturally, Daniel had followed Clara’s career. He never learned why she failed to write to him after arriving in London, but he could not blame her. Or not too much, anyway. She had been surrounded by the best musicians and writers in Europe. It was unrealistic to think that a girl with those opportunities would remember the poor kid she had once let use her piano.
    Still, he was proud of her. Clara had the wealth and connections to live an idle life if she had chosen. She could have taken up tennis and golf like Kate and never worried about what being stooped over in a mineshaft did to a child’s spinal column.
    “So what precisely did these legal fees buy Clara? A deportation ticket?”
    “It bought her a suspended jail term. Without Mr. Townsend’s intervention, it is likely she would have been required to serve a number of years in prison.”
    The thought of Clara, with her bright blue eyes and sparkling humor, locked in a stark jail cell made his blood run cold. “Money well spent, then.”
    As he skimmed one of the articles, he imagined her standing in a courtroom as charges were read against her. She could not have looked so bright and sparkly then.
    He tossed the newspaper down. “Find out if she intends to return to Baltimore, or if she is headed elsewhere,” Daniel said.
    It had suddenly become very important to discover what precisely had become of the girl who had once vowed she would be his best friend even if she lived on the moon.

Chapter 3

    F inally back in Baltimore after two weeks at sea, Clara braced herself for an evening in which she was, lamentably, the main attraction. The mayor of Baltimore lived in an imposing mansion built from blocks of rough-hewn granite that looked as if they had been carted off from an ancient castle. Torchlight flickered along the walk leading up to the house, and the interior was illuminated with massive chandeliers. The reason for this evening’s soiree was ostensibly to welcome her back home, but Clara knew the real reason the glittering circle of high society would be here tonight. The Reverend Lloyd Endicott was still one of the most influential religious leaders in the country, and currying his favor by attending a party in his daughter’s honor was essential for the politicians, socialites, and captains of industry in Maryland. Florence Wagner, the mayor’s wife, would have offered up her firstborn child in exchange for hosting the festivities. People were always eager to court her father’s favor, and as the most colossal social climber on the east coast, Florence Wagner was thrilled down to her pearl-encrusted satin pumps to host the party in Clara’s honor.
    “Don’t look so nervous,” her father said from the carriage seat opposite her. “I know you are looking forward to this as much as having a tooth extracted, but all the right people will be in attendance tonight. If you wish to relaunch your writing career, these people will be excellent connections.”
    Clara adjusted the pleats of silk that flared from the wasp waist of her evening gown. The overskirt was a simple turquoise brocade, but as it gathered back to a carefully draped bustle, a splendid underskirt of embroidered silk charmeuse was revealed in the front. With her hands encased in white kid gloves up to her elbows and the fine boning of her corset keeping her rigidly erect, Clara was oddly grateful for