Secrets of Sloane House (19 page)

His brother’s voice was so sure, his gaze so direct, Reid didn’t have the heart to refute his words any longer. “If you believe it to be so, then I will do my best to do you proud.”

“No, Reid. You have to
promise
. Promise you will do those things. All you have to do is promise.”

“All right. I promise.” Of course, what he didn’t add was that he would have said anything for Calvin to lean back and rest.

Calvin had smiled then, a pure, angelic smile. It almost made Reid believe in angels after all. He coughed again, allowed Reid to pat his back and help him sip water, then he closed his eyes. He died an hour later.

That last conversation with Calvin was both Reid’s best and worst memory of his childhood.

After that awful time, he’d tried harder to be patient. More generous. He looked after Beth more. He tried harder in his lessons. He tried harder in a hundred ways. And to his consternation, much of what Calvin had predicted would happen, did. He had a good life.

But now, as he walked down the front steps into the Sloanes’ main drawing room, he realized that though he’d done much good, he’d still retained some of the selfish ways he had been born with.

Douglass Sloane was not a man Reid ever wanted to emulate. He’d symbolized his parents’ hopes and dreams in the social realm, and Reid also knew that he owed him a great debt for his assistance in boarding school. But in the past year, his flaws had started to outweigh his strengths. He’d become increasingly degenerate and increasingly cavalier in his treatment of other people, especially women. His drinking had become constant, his pranks and amusements had become darker and more lurid.

Most of their original group had begun to distance themselves from Douglass, and Veronica was bearing the weight of those
consequences. Men were wary of being associated with Douglass and therefore refused to even dance with her.

After a time, Veronica’s softness had faded. Now, her desperation for an ideal match had given her a hard, almost lethal edge. Her tongue was cruel, and because of that, her beauty dulled. Little by little, she’d become a source of amusement for many of the women in their circle of friends. Meanness and pettiness did not garner much compassion for a person’s flaws.

Now, as Reid watched Douglass, who was currently surrounded by a group of men who wouldn’t have even gained entrance into the Sloane mansion two years ago, Reid knew it was time for him to break his ties with the family too.

Calling Douglass and Veronica Sloane friends was going to harm his sister’s debut into society. And because he’d long ago promised Calvin, Reid knew he would do whatever it took to prevent anything to mar Beth’s coming out.

It was time to leave.

Douglass looked up from the conversation he was having, caught his eye, and beckoned him forward. “Armstrong, are you going to simply stand there like a statue, or are you going to join us?”

“Pardon me.” Right then and there, he knew this would be his last evening in the mansion. After tonight, he would distance himself.

Stepping next to Douglass, he greeted the other men with civil, if somewhat cool greetings. Douglass noticed his lack of enthusiasm. “Come now, gent. This is no way to treat family.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My sister, of course.” Douglass grinned at them all. “We all saw you dancing with her at the Upton house.”

“One dance does not make an alliance,” Reid countered lightly. “Though, of course, your sister is both charming and lovely.”

The other men guffawed, making Reid flush. He had, perhaps, flowered a bit too much praise on Veronica.

“She is attractive, but has the disposition of a viper,” Douglass retorted. “Though, perhaps, that will make her interesting to bed.”

Douglass had just crossed the line. The other men froze, but said nothing.

It would be easiest to merely do the same. But, at last, Reid knew he could no longer hold his tongue. “I don’t find your comments amusing. In fact, they’re rather reprehensible.”

Douglass looked mildly uncomfortable. “Reid, I fear your plebian roots are showing. Yet again. Come have a drink.”

Reid was considering what to do next when he spied Veronica in the shadows of the hallway, close enough that she had to have heard her brother’s caustic joke. “Excuse me,” he murmured, then turned away.

Douglass chuckled. He apparently had seen her now as well. “See what I mean, gentlemen? He’s smitten!” Reid let the comment fall behind him.

“Veronica, are you all right?”

She regarded him with a cool disdain. “Are you referring to my brother’s penchant for announcing my charms?” She was prodding him to bring up the shameful comment, whether to embarrass him or her brother, he didn’t know.

Suddenly, the evening was too much. Witnessing Veronica’s treatment of Rosalind. Listening to Douglass’s rude and tasteless words—and now Veronica’s determination to pretend Reid was the one at fault because he’d had the nerve to actually refer to them.

“I do believe it’s time I left. Please convey my regrets to your mother.”

“Do you really have to leave us, Reid?” The words were banal but infused with a double meaning.

He ignored it. “I do. It’s for the best, I think.” He, too, could speak in half-truths.

A new acknowledgment, and, perhaps, respect, flooded her expression. “I see.”

He turned before each felt it necessary to exchange simple words that held too much meaning. He left the room before Douglass caught sight of him and thought to wonder about his actions.

From the moment he departed the hallway, Reid felt lighter than he had in years. It was as if with that one decision, he had chosen to change the course of his life. Best, it was his decision for himself. Not out of obligation or guilt.

He strode across the Italian marble entryway, past the Chippendale credenza, past the exquisitely carved grandfather clock. Last of all, he passed Nanci, dressed in a freshly pressed uniform, looking pretty and formal in black and white. Her eyes widened as he passed, but she didn’t say a word.

Just as he didn’t acknowledge her.

He opened the door without the assistance of the footman and then quickly closed the door behind him with a smart click.

At long last, he had left Sloane House.

Looking around, he noticed that haziness had filled the early evening air, most likely from the increased number of trains in the city. It was thick with fog and smoke and the faint scent of trash and debris.

Just a block away a somewhat bedraggled flower girl was hawking roses to passersby. And Reid realized that the air had never smelled so sweet. He promptly bought a dozen roses for his mother. He had a feeling they would brighten her day immeasurably. And, perhaps, make Calvin pleased.

That was something, he supposed.

CHAPTER 19

S
he was late.

After running past a sneering Jerome and a disapproving Mr. Hodgeson, Rosalind darted to her room and hastily put on a freshly starched apron. Seconds after that she winced at her reflection in the mirror, then bit her lip as she took down her hair and hastily pinned it up again. She’d just pinned her cap on her head when Mrs. Abrams walked to the doorway.

“Ah, Rosalind. There you are.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

Mrs. Abrams scanned Rosalind’s form, taking in everything in one fell swoop, from her precariously pinned cap to her apron to her black boots, which were sorely in need of a shine. Her gaze softened before turning resolute.

“Mrs. Sloane would like to have a word with you. Come with me, please.”

The request almost took Rosalind’s breath away. Not trusting her voice, Rosalind silently followed the housekeeper through the maze of servants’ rooms, through the thoroughly scrubbed dining area, along the narrow, windy hallway that led to the wine cellar, the silver room, and the laundry. A few servants paused as they passed. Some looked away; others stared at her with expressions of disbelief and disappointment.

Rosalind’s stomach knotted as she prepared herself for the worst. Obviously, she was about to be let go. She only hoped and prayed that she would get a day to make other plans before she had to leave the estate.

As they walked up the steep flight of stairs to Mrs. Sloane’s private study, Rosalind figured she had nothing to lose by asking Mrs. Abrams for information.

“Do you know what this is about, Mrs. Abrams?”

“I do.”

Her voice was clipped, and those two words were filled with enough censure that Rosalind knew it would be pointless to ask another question. Obviously, she was not going to get any immediate answers.

When they entered the study, Rosalind saw that Mrs. Sloane sat at her desk, carefully penning letters. Mrs. Abrams practically stood at attention, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Yes, Abrams?” the lady finally murmured.

“I have brought Rosalind, as you requested. Is now still a good time for you to speak to her?”

At last Mrs. Sloane turned, her gray silk gown rustling with the motion. She studied both Rosalind and Mrs. Abrams, then nodded. “I suppose this is as good a time as it will ever be.” As she crossed the room, she gestured toward a pair of upholstered chairs. “Please sit down.”

Rosalind followed Mrs. Abrams’ lead and took a chair, perching on the edge of the floral fabric.

Mrs. Sloane sat down as well, neatly arranging her skirts. After a lengthy pause, she looked at Rosalind with a vague expression of distaste. “I’m afraid there is no easy way to do this. It has come to my attention that you are suspected of stealing from my home.”

It was all Rosalind could do to keep from gaping. “Beg pardon?”

“It would be best if you went ahead and told us the whole story instead of denying it,” Mrs. Abrams said. “Lying will only make your situation worse.”

“Ma’am,” she sputtered. “I mean, Mrs. Sloane, I promise, I have never stolen anything from you, never taken a thing from this house.” The words tumbled out faster. “I have never stolen anything in my life.”

The housekeeper clucked her tongue. “Are you sure you are not mistaken?”

“I am positive! What have you heard?” Turning to Mrs. Sloane, Rosalind added, “Ma’am, what have you heard? What is it that is being said I stole?”

“Rosalind,” Mrs. Abrams reprimanded. “Watch your tongue.”

“I’m sorry. But I really have no idea . . .”

Mrs. Sloane’s voice turned pained. “My daughter said you delivered her breakfast tray the other day. Is that true?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She didn’t understand what that had to do with anything.

“Veronica said she was asleep when you entered, but awoke long enough to watch you pocket one of her combs after you laid her tray on her desk.”

“Her comb?”

“Veronica has, or rather had, a pair of tortoiseshell combs. Each is inlaid with silver and decorated with a spray of amethysts. They are not only very dear, but they have extreme sentimental value. They were a gift from her grandmother on her sixteenth birthday.” Smoothing a
hand down one of her sleeves, Mrs. Sloane murmured, “I’m sure you can understand how upset she was to discover one missing.”

“Yes, ma’am. I can see that. But I did not touch them!” She stood up. “I promise, when I last delivered her tray, she was awake. I poured her not one but two cups of coffee.”

“You will sit back down,” Mrs. Abrams barked.

Rosalind did as she was told, but she felt as if every muscle in her body had turned to stone. After a moment, the housekeeper turned to Rosalind and asked, “Are you certain about this?”

“I am more than certain. I am positive. I would never steal from Miss Veronica or from anyone in the house. I need this job too much to do anything like that. Plus, that is not who I am. I am not a thief.” Turning desperately to the housekeeper, Rosalind said plaintively, “Ma’am, you know how much I dislike delivering trays. I’m always afraid I’m going to drop one. Or not be able to open a door with my hands full. I wouldn’t have even delivered the tray except that Cook said that Miss Veronica had specifically asked for me to take it up.”

Mrs. Sloane looked taken aback. “I must admit that your story does sound very convincing.”

“It is the truth. I’m afraid Miss Sloane is mistaken.”

“Rosalind!” Mrs. Abrams hissed under her breath. “Remember your place.”

Mrs. Sloane looked from one of them to the other, then seemed to make a decision. “Please wait here. I am going to get Veronica and see if we can make some sense of this story.”

After she left, Rosalind pressed her hands to her eyes and tried to will them not to tear up. No good would come from crying. But she truly was scared. Beside her, the housekeeper seemed terribly agitated.

“I promise I didn’t take anything,” Rosalind pleaded. “I swear to you, if something is missing, it’s not my doing.”

“Why would Miss Veronica make up such a tale?”

Rosalind ached to tell everything she knew about Reid and Douglass and even Nanci. But that felt wrong. She didn’t want to betray anyone else’s confidences, especially since most of what she knew was based on rumor.

“I don’t know,” she said at last.

Mrs. Abrams pursed her lips, looked at Rosalind worriedly, but said nothing more.

A scant ten minutes later, Mrs. Sloane returned, followed by Veronica and Nanci. After a deep breath, she stood in front of Rosalind and folded her hands behind her back. “It seems there has been a slight misunderstanding.”

Unable to stay seated, Rosalind slowly stood up once again. To her dismay, her legs were shaking. Though she had feared she would be dismissed, she was discovering that the idea of being fired and the actuality of losing her job and place to live were two different things. She was beyond frightened.

Unable to meet Mrs. Sloane’s gaze, she held on to the armrest of the chair in hopes of steadying herself and stared at the floor. “Ma’am?”

“When I entered my daughter’s room just now, Nanci was there, arranging her hair. And it seems the other comb was in a dresser drawer.”

“In a drawer?” Rosalind cast an incredulous gaze on Veronica. Veronica was staring straight ahead. Mrs. Sloane now looked contrite.