Secrets of Sloane House (23 page)

“Rosalind, you are the proverbial busy bee these days. Are they even letting you sleep?” he’d asked just a few hours earlier. She’d been walking back to the kitchens after delivering a coffee service and tray of pastries to Mrs. Sloane’s study. “Every time I turn around, I see you walking to and fro with a purpose.”

“It’s because I have been walking purposefully, sir,” she quipped. “Your household is a busy place.”

He leaned against the wall of the narrow hallway. With his body positioned like that, and his direct gaze seeming to prevent her from looking anywhere else, Rosalind at last felt like she counted, like someone was paying attention to her and she was worth something.

“Are they working you too hard, dear?”

The endearment caught her off guard. “No, sir.”

“Sir? It’s Douglass, remember.” His voice softened. “Is there anything I may do for you? I would be happy to ask Mrs. Abrams to go a little lighter on you.”

“Please don’t.” She knew—even if he didn’t—that her days at Sloane House were almost at an end. As soon as Mrs. Sloane could replace her, she would.

Before she knew what he was about, he reached for her hand and held it between his own hands. Neither was wearing gloves, of course. And her rough skin with the chewed cuticles and short nails looked even more frightful than they usually did. “Your hands . . .” His voice drifted off as he inspected them.

Standing across from him, so close, she felt the first flicker of
unease, and the realization that once again, she’d been such a fool. Of course she’d been happy for his attentions because she’d been so lonely.

But that didn’t change the fact that there was something dark and almost sinister about him. Something that made a lump in her throat ache and all her senses wake up and take notice. He was a dangerous man.

A dangerous man wrapped up in a beautiful, desirable package. But still, she was afraid of him.

He didn’t let go of her hand. Still staring at it, he ran one finger along her knuckles. “Have you figured out yet what happened to Nanci?” he asked.

His voice was deceptively casual. Unnervingly direct. Though he still hadn’t met her gaze, she felt his regard as intently as if he was staring straight at her. When she said nothing, his grip tightened. It didn’t hurt, but she would have a difficult time freeing her hand without pulling hard to get it free.

“Are you going to answer?” he murmured in that easy, silky way he spoke. “Or attempt to ignore me?”

Apprehension hit her hard. His question felt like a test of sorts. It was obvious that he was waiting for the right reply. Waiting for her to tell him what he wanted to know.

If only she knew what that was.

“I don’t know anything,” she answered at last.

He raised his chin. Stared at her. His eyes were dark and cold.

Sharp, like a reptile’s.

“I do.”

“Sir—”

He ran his hand up her arm, finally digging his fingers into the soft skin right above her elbow. “It’s Douglass, remember? Now, why don’t you tell me what’s been going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“Sir, the truth is that we . . . Nanci and I had a falling out. She wouldn’t speak to me about you,” Rosalind said in a rush. “I asked her about what happened between the two of you at the fair, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

“So you were curious? What, exactly, did you want to know?”

She felt her body tremble. With her arm in his tight grip, she knew he felt her tremors too.

A new light entered his eyes. It looked a bit like amusement, a bit like pleasure.

She had no choice but to answer. “Only if she was okay. And if she was in love with you,” she improvised quickly.

He dropped her arm. “She was not in love. Not with me, anyway. But surely you had to have known that.”

“I knew nothing. She refused to say a word.”

“Were you jealous of her happiness?”

Happiness? She shook her head. “No, sir. I—I just was worried about her. That’s all.”

“So many women leaving our house. First Miranda, then Tilly. Now Nanci. I wonder who will be next?”

She was scared. Frightened. But she couldn’t back down now. “Douglass, d–did you know Miranda well?”

It was as if he’d been prodded with a stick. He stepped back in a hurry. “I knew her well enough.”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

A line formed between his brows as he studied her a bit more closely. “I gave Nanci funds to leave. To go back to her family,” he said, suddenly changing the subject back to Nanci.

“You did?”

His lip curled in distaste. “She was in a family way, it seems.” He sighed. “I suppose it couldn’t be helped. Anyway, I gave her funds and
she left. We, uh, both decided it would be best if no one else knew. Now this secret is your burden too. But of course if you tell, you’ll ruin her reputation forever, and that would be such a terrible thing.” He paused. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, yes, sir.”

Almost imperceptibly, his posture relaxed. “I’m so glad we understand each other now. Do be careful of your curiosity, Rosalind. It killed the cat, you know.” And then he turned and walked away, his gait slow and leisurely.

She, on the other hand, felt as if she could be wrung out, she was so caught off guard by their conversation. All she wanted to do was run to her room and scream out her frustration and cry out her self-pity.

Instead, she did what was expected and walked briskly down the hall and into the kitchens. Cook was waiting for her, arms over her chest, her face flushed with disapproval. “We all have work that must be done, Rosalind. Your lollygagging is hurting all of us.” With a disdainful look, she added, “Do you even care anymore?”

“Of course I care.”

“Then what do you have to say for yourself? What took you so long to deliver the tray?”

“Nothing. I have nothing to say anymore.” Seeing a stack of clean linen napkins, she picked them up. “I’ll go press these now.”

Cook looked a bit taken aback, then with a more curious gaze, she nodded. “Yes. Do that.”

As she walked away, Rosalind realized that she had no more tears to cry. Well, that was something, she supposed. But although she now knew what happened to Nanci, she still had no idea what had happened to Miranda.

Why was Douglass willing to tell her about Nanci but avoided talking about her sister?

CHAPTER 23

I
t wasn’t until late that afternoon that Rosalind had time to run out to the street and look for Minerva. Not only did she hope to help out the flower girl, but she felt that her presence at Sloane House could only help the rest of the servants. Everyone was so exhausted, their nerves so frayed, any new addition to the staff could only help the strained circumstances inside the house.

To Rosalind’s relief, Minerva was standing at her usual corner, her box of flowers lying on the ground next to her feet. Both the chrysanthemums and Minerva looked a bit wilted. Rosalind wished she’d thought to bring her a glass of water.

Minerva’s expression brightened a bit when she recognized Rosalind, but then she seemed to carefully tamp it down. Perhaps she didn’t want Rosalind to think they’d actually become friends.

After pausing for a moment, doing her best to rethink what she was about to do, Rosalind strode forward.

“Hello, Minerva.”

“Rosalind. Running errands today?”

“No. Um, actually, I came out here to speak with you.”

“Is that right? Are you still looking for your sister?”

“I am.”

“And how goes the search?”

“I haven’t been too successful, I fear. Actually, I haven’t accomplished much at all. It’s been unusually busy at Sloane House, especially for the last couple of days. I only have a few minutes to be out here.”

Minerva nodded like she’d suspected that. “Lots of folks coming and going from that house, and at all hours of the day and night.”

“Yes, the family likes to entertain.”

“Like I told you, sometimes it’s best to accept how things are and move on. It’s easier that way.”

“I imagine so. Um, actually, since we’re discussing change and such, I had an idea for you.”

Immediately, the other girl’s expression became guarded. “And why would you be thinking about me so much?”

“I’ve felt bad for you, standing on the corners, selling flowers in all sorts of weather.”

Her chin lifted. “It’s a reputable job.”

“I meant no disrespect,” Rosalind said quickly. “I only wanted to tell you that there is an opening for a housemaid at Sloane House that I think you should apply for.”

Minerva’s expression hardened, then she blinked, as if the words had just registered. Then she narrowed her eyes and stared at Rosalind a little more closely. “And why do you think I’d have a chance?”

“Nanci, my roommate, had to leave in a hurry. Her leaving has left the whole household in a bit of disarray. Mrs. Abrams, the
housekeeper, and Mrs. Sloane herself are eager to find a replacement as soon as possible. Actually, they’re so anxious that they are even willing to bypass going through a placement agency.” Smiling as encouragingly as possible, Rosalind added, “You can simply go to the servants’ entrance and speak to Mrs. Abrams today or tomorrow.”

“It can’t be that easy.”

“I’m certain it is. Well, it is if you are so inclined. If not, then no harm done.” She paused meaningfully, but mentally winced when she spied Minerva’s look of scorn. Too tired to argue her point, Rosalind turned away. Her current situation was hard enough without being subjected to barbs from Minerva too.

She’d taken three steps when Minerva’s voice rang out.

“Wait!”

Surprised, Rosalind turned. “Yes?”

“If I did go to Sloane House, what would I do? What would I say?” Though Rosalind thought she was trying to hide her real feelings, hope lit Minerva’s eyes. Awkwardly, she ran a self-conscious hand down the front of her dress. “And what about my clothes? I’m sure your Mrs. Abrams will see that my appearance has much to be desired.”

Rosalind looked at her critically. “I don’t think you need to worry too much about your dress. It’s clean, modest, and neatly mended. Besides, if you are hired, you’ll be given a uniform. All I would do is smooth back your hair neatly. And be prepared to answer a lot of questions about your experience.”

“I have a lot of that.”

She smiled encouragingly. “Then you should be fine. Or at least you’ll have as good a chance as anyone.”

“Before you leave, tell me this. Why are you helping me? What do you get?”

“Nothing.” Much less than that, of course. If Minerva worked
out, then of course Rosalind would be out of a job. But to her surprise, her own needs and security didn’t seem to be the only things that mattered anymore.

“Everyone wants something,” Minerva pushed.

“I guess I’ll get a feeling of satisfaction then. Even if I never find out anything about my sister, at least I would be able to help you. If you
want
to work in the Sloane House, that is.”

“Should I tell them you sent me?”

“No. I haven’t been a good housemaid, and that is putting it mildly. And now I had best get back.” She’d barely walked two steps when Minerva called out to her again.

“Rosalind?”

She paused and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I do hope you will apply, Minerva. It will be a good thing, knowing that you will be a part of a big house again.”

She started walking again before she could say anything more.

When she got back into the house, Rosalind entered the kitchens and helped herself to a bowl of vegetable barley soup that Mrs. Russell had left simmering in a large crock on the stove. Other than a few nods, no one in the kitchen acknowledged her.

She was halfway done with her soup when a timid knock sounded at the door. Jerome answered. Right away, his usual cocky demeanor softened, giving Rosalind a hint that Minerva had wasted little time in taking advantage of Rosalind’s news.

He turned to Mrs. Russell. “Cook, is Mrs. Abrams interviewing for Nanci’s position already?”

“She is.” After wiping her hands on her stained apron, Cook walked to the back door.

As Rosalind finished her meal, she heard Cook’s somewhat
skeptical voice change just like Jerome’s had. “Come on, dearie. And sit yourself down. Why don’t you have some soup while Jerome here goes to find Mrs. Abrams, our housekeeper?”

Not wanting to run the risk of ruining Minerva’s chances, Rosalind hurriedly washed her bowl and spoon and exited the kitchen. She passed Mrs. Abrams on the stairs. “Ma’am.”

“Press Miss Veronica’s dress for this evening,” the housekeeper said crisply. “It has been set out on her bed.”

Rosalind went to Veronica’s room, got the dress, and headed to the laundry to do as she was bid. Down the hall, in Mrs. Abrams’ private office, she could hear Mrs. Abrams and Cook chatting with Minerva. Their voices were kind, their questions easy and gentle. It seemed that they, too, had been just as struck by Minerva’s beauty and her noticeable nervousness.

Shortly afterward, the housekeeper located Rosalind. “Did you iron the gown?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s hanging in Miss Sloane’s wardrobe.”

“Good.” She cleared her throat. “I thought I might warn you that we have an applicant for the housemaid position. I think she might work out if Mrs. Sloane approves of her.”

“Ah.”

“She’s a different type of girl than most of us, but I must say she seems most suitable. She speaks well and is eager to work hard. She looks like she’s fallen on some hard times, but she has experience and overall she seems like she will fill the position superbly.”

Rosalind waited, wondering what Mrs. Abrams was going to say next.

“I would like you to show her to your rooms and then let her put on your extra uniform for the interview with Mrs. Sloane. Let her use your mirror and pins too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rosalind wondered if the older lady had even considered how awkward it should have been for Rosalind to help prepare a woman to take her place. But perhaps she didn’t care.

When she entered the kitchens again, Rosalind found Minerva surrounded by various members of the staff. All were either plying her with food, offering her suggestions for the interview, or telling her about themselves.