March 24, 1866
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Hunched by the embers of the dying fire in the otherwise pitch-black library, I tried to make sense of the tiny letters in the Allegheny Business News. As the words became clear, I saw the familiar names of Mr. Carnegie’s former superiors at the Pennsylvania Railroad, Messrs. Scott and Thomson, which were linked with the Carnegies in nearly every one of their investments and companies. Clarifying my chart, I added Messrs. Scott and Thomson as partners in another Carnegie venture.
The complicated chart, twelve pages long, began as a simple list of the Carnegies’ ventures and controlling interests. As I listened to my mistress, her son, the guests with whom they socialized, and the businessmen with whom they conducted meetings, the list grew into a chart. I then mapped out the relationships between the Carnegies’ ventures and the people behind them. The process was not that different from complicated outlines of European history Dad once made me prepare or the pared-down recapitulation of the English laws governing Ireland he had us girls draft. Only the players and the subject matter were different.
Once I had gained an intimate understanding of this web, I plugged the Carnegies’ businesses into the commerce of the entire region and then deepened my understanding of the impact the Civil War—its duration and its conclusion—had on the nation. I learned that, while the federal contracts for iron, coal, and goods dried up after the war, the manufacturers’ industrial capacity had increased multifold, and they were eager for uses for its expansion. The railroads fueled that industrial growth by consolidating short-haul roads and forming vast east-west and north-south transportation networks capable of shipping goods and people more cheaply, causing a surge in trade. As the railroads grew, so did the demand for iron again, along with engines, wheels, and bridges.
Everything had occurred precisely as Mr. Carnegie had predicted. I now realized that his resignation from the railroad when he took his European trip would allow him to exploit his intimate knowledge of the railroad business—as well as his relationships with Messrs. Scott and Thomson—to partner with nearly every venture tied to the railroad and its growth. He was poised to be one of the preeminent national businessmen in the railroad and iron industries, at the very least.
As I worked on my chart, I learned that invisibility had distinct benefits. By playing the part of perfect servant, by definition deaf and blind to the events occurring before me, I was present for the most confidential of conversations. My reward was information to feed my chart and my predictions. Not that I had the money yet to invest, mind. But the loss of the family farm and the harm into which Dad had gotten the family had spurred on a plan. I would squirrel money away a little at a time, month by month, with the goal of investing as Mr. Carnegie had done. Perhaps I’d amass enough to sail my family here to safety. Hadn’t Mr. Carnegie assembled vast wealth using this rubric? The idea gave me hope.
A door creaked behind me. Craning my neck, I looked around the leather chair that blocked my presence. The library door remained tightly shut. Perhaps the wind from the spring storm had caused the house to shift. I returned to my paper.
A creak sounded again. This time, I stood up, newspaper, journal, and an economics book in hand, ready to flee. I couldn’t risk Mr. Holyrod or Mrs. Stewart finding me here. They were already on the lookout for faults with me to report back to Mrs. Carnegie.
The library door pushed open, and my opportunity for escape was lost. Before the interloper revealed him or herself, I wracked my mind for a way to explain my presence in the library. I settled on the excuse of fetching a book for Mrs. Carnegie.
But when the culprit stepped into the room, I didn’t offer my justification, because I lost the ability to speak. It was Mr. Carnegie.
“Miss Kelley,” he said, sounding as breathless as if he’d walked up a flight of stairs. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Mr. C-Carnegie,” I stammered. “I had no idea that you’d returned home from Europe. I apologize for my appearance.” I felt naked in my nightdress and robe, hair unbound. I smoothed out my clothes, as if the removal of errant wrinkles could make me more presentable.
“No need for apologies, Miss Kelley. You are perfectly decorous.” He smiled. “There is no way you could have expected me. A surprise return was my plan.”
“Yes, you have arrived a fair bit earlier than you indicated. Your last letter—from England I believe, from whence you planned on sailing—said that you would ‘return by late spring, with the necessary equipment for an elegant archery set to use at Fairfield in hand.’”
“You have recounted my letter almost verbatim.”
“It was my pleasure to listen to your mother read them aloud to your brother almost nightly.”
“I had hoped you would find some way to read them. Or hear them.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I sometimes spoke to you through them.”
Pretending I hadn’t heard his last remark, I said, “Your mother will be delighted, Mr. Carnegie. Shall I get her for you?”
“Thank you, but no, Miss Kelley. I had planned on alerting her to my arrival at breakfast. I wanted to see the expression on her face as she walked into the dining room and found me sitting there, reading the newspaper,” he said with a chuckle.
I smiled. “You and your mother always know how to make each other laugh.”
“It is laughter I hope to provoke, not fright.”
“Your presence can only bring joy to your mother. She has missed you terribly.”
“Was she the only one?” he asked, his eyes hopeful.
I answered honestly but vaguely. “No. You were missed by everyone at Fairfield.”
Formalities aside, a silence descended upon us. The ticking of the mantel clock seemed to grow louder, but I was fearful of breaking the quiet with a question too stately or too comfortable, particularly given the somewhat confessional nature of our last exchange.
Finally, Mr. Carnegie asked, “How have you fared these past ten months, Miss Kelley?”
“I hope I’ve served your mother well, Mr. Carnegie.”
“I did not ask about my mother, Miss Kelley. I asked about you.”
His unexpected presence and frankness unnerved me, and I answered without my usual filter. “These months have been hard.”
Alarm sounded in his voice. “I hope no one in the Carnegie household has been mistreating you?”
“Oh no,” I hastened to reassure him. “Personal matters have made this time challenging.”
“I felt quite the same, Miss Kelley.”
“I’m astonished. Your letters brimmed with excitement and adventure. I heard no evidence of challenge.”
“Those letters were meant to assuage my mother,” he said. “The truth would have caused her unnecessary worry.”
“I suppose that was a wise decision. After all, the ‘Committee on Matrimony’ worried her quite enough.”
Mr. Carnegie’s brows knit in confusion. “The Committee on what?”
“Matrimony,” I answered flippantly, as if it hadn’t impacted me as well, as if a surge of jealousy hadn’t passed through me at the very mention of this “committee.” “I believe that your traveling companion Mr. Vandevort mentioned this Committee on Matrimony to his mother in a letter, and she shared it with Mrs. Carnegie.”
“Vandy has always been prone to drama.” He groaned. “One late night with one silly idea, and he runs off to tell his mother. I suppose I’ll have to undo the damage tomorrow morning.”
“Indeed, your mother feared that you might return with a bride in mind.” I giggled a little at the memory of one of my mistress’s most histrionic displays. “Or worse, with a foreign bride in tow.”
He chuckled again and then grew quiet. “On the matter of matrimony, there has been no change.”
Keeping my gaze fixed upon the floor, I refused to meet his eyes, although part of me wanted to see what message I might find there. Was it presumptuous of me to interpret his comment favorably? I longed for an answer but knew it could only cause me trouble. My nerves caused me to fiddle with the newspaper and books I’d kept tucked behind my dressing gown.
“What do you have there, Miss Kelley? Some new verse by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I hope.”
“Nothing quite so interesting, I fear. A newspaper, a personal journal, and an informational text.” I did not offer the materials to him.
“May I?”
I hesitated. How would he react to my study of his holdings? I desired his opinion on one hand but feared it on the other.
Without other options, I handed him both books and the folded newspaper.
“The Allegheny Business News I can understand, but Political Economy by Alonzo Potter?” He chuffed at the sight of the top volume. “That’s heavy reading, Miss Kelley, and certainly not as well written as Mrs. Browning.”
“An attempt to learn more about the business world. To finish the education you began.” I did not explain why this knowledge was of paramount importance to me, of course.
“Ah. The nuances of the business world are best learned from people, not books.”
“My tutor was in Europe,” I said with a smile. “Anyway, didn’t you receive your education from Colonel Anderson’s library?”
“Touché.” He smiled back and then, sliding my journal out from underneath Political Economy, asked, “May I look through this?”
I nodded.
He flipped through the first few pages rather quickly, but then slowed down to review each page in detail. “This is magnificent, Miss Kelley. How did you arrive at this understanding? You’ve displayed mastery not only of the Carnegie businesses but the Pittsburgh industrial community and the national railroad and iron companies as well.”
“By researching. And listening. Even when perhaps I should not have.”
He glanced up from my chart. “That’s when you gather the best information, Miss Kelley.”
“Your mother and Mrs. Seeley would disagree. A good lady’s maid lives only to serve her mistress. She does not eavesdrop on her mistress’s conversations.”
“A mind such as yours could hardly turn off the chatter around you.” He laughed at my protestations. “In any event, you are far more than a lady’s maid, Miss Kelley. You see what I see in the world. The links between industry and history, the synergy and efficiencies between businesses. Most businessmen see the world so narrowly. I thought I was alone in this understanding.”
My cheeks grew hot, and I was thankful for the low firelight. He knew my weakness—admiration of my intelligence. “You honor me with your compliments, Mr. Carnegie.”
“I’m not offering you empty flattery, Miss Kelley. You’ve thought of business partnerships that I haven’t even considered yet. If you were a man, I’d hire you.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer and more empathetic. “But you are not. So please allow me to help you. And who knows? You might end up helping me.”
He tempted me with his offer. Could this work? Together, could we lay gilt on my shimmering web of a chart, making it gleam with precision and luster? Could we fashion prospective investments based on all the inside knowledge we gleaned so that I could raise enough money to save my family? Or would a business relationship become inextricably intertwined with an emotional one again?
