Secrets of Sloane House (24 page)

“Minerva, I am Rosalind,” she said as formally as she could. She didn’t want anyone to suspect that she had anything to do with Minerva’s appearance in the house. “Mrs. Abrams thought I might be able to help you prepare for your interview with Mrs. Sloane.”

Minerva stood up with a rush, her chair scraping the tile floor. Wincing at the squeak, her cheeks colored. “I am so sorry,” she said to Cook.

“Don’t you fret, now. We’ve all been in your shoes. And don’t worry about your interview. Mrs. Sloane is always kind to applicants.”

“Don’t worry about her none either,” Jerome said with a dark look Rosalind’s way. “She won’t be with us much longer.”

Thankfully, Minerva said nothing at first as she followed Rosalind up the servants’ stairs. When they were about halfway up, however, Minerva spoke—perhaps oblivious to Jerome’s unkind remark about Rosalind from excitement at this new opportunity. “You never said how friendly the staff is. They feel like family, they do.”

“I didn’t think of it. Um, I guess I had assumed all staffs would be that way.”

“No, Rosalind,” she murmured. “Most of the time they’re not that way at all.”

CHAPTER 24

T
hose words echoed in Rosalind’s head when she was summoned to Mrs. Abrams’ sitting room at four o’clock and given an envelope with the last of her pay and a letter of reference. Though it seemed the housekeeper didn’t have the heart to send her out without a letter of reference, Rosalind’s cursory glance showed that it was barely adequate. Never again would she be hired in a grand house.

Feeling chilled, Rosalind folded the letter and counted the money. “Thank you. I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

“No, Miss Pettit. You will leave right now. Your time at Sloane House has come to its end.”

While Rosalind stared at her incredulously, the housekeeper became even more businesslike. “I know the hour is getting late, but that can’t be helped. Time stands still for no man.”

Stunned and more than a little hurt that Mrs. Abrams was not even going to wait to see if Minerva did indeed “acclimate,” Rosalind
hurried to her room, changed out of her uniform, and threw what belongings she had into her carpetbag. As she hoisted it over one crooked arm, Rosalind realized she was leaving with quite a bit more than she came with. More importantly, she was leaving with a greater understanding of life and expectations and human nature.

As luck would have it, she passed Douglass Sloane as she left the house, and she set down her bag for just a moment to talk with him.

“I guess things didn’t work out here after all. A shame.”

Yet again his words were infused with multiple meanings. Now, though, she was able to reply with a bit of intelligence. “No, sir, it didn’t. But everything wasn’t a total loss. I learned a lot.”

“Anything of use?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I learned a lot of information that will one day come in handy. And I realize a few important truths.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I’ve learned to depend on myself. I’ve learned it is foolish to depend on anyone or anything.”

He blinked. “Now that is harsh.”

“I agree, sir. It has been very harsh. And more than a bit painful too. But I will survive. We all do.”

“Some don’t,” he said softly. “Some don’t survive at all.”

She met his gaze and felt chilled all over again. Indeed, she had learned that too. Some in their midst didn’t survive.

She picked up her carpetbag one more time, opened the door, and stepped out into waning sunlight. Wondering what would happen to her.

And a dark part of her wondered if it even mattered. She’d failed utterly in her goals. But most of all, she’d failed her sister.

“You have been avoiding me, Reid,” Veronica Sloane said minutes after the fish course had been served in the glittering dining room where their group had gathered for yet another dinner party and ball at yet another fine house. “Do you have a reason?”

He had many, some that he could verbalize. Others represented only a myriad of mixed-up emotions he felt unable to share. Instead, it was more of a feeling that he was on the verge of making a complete change in his life, and a relationship with her—as he had decided the day he’d found Veronica in the Sloane House hallway shadows—would only complicate things, even if he wanted such a relationship. Was she really going to pretend no understanding had passed between them that day?

With care, he pulled apart his dinner roll and spread a small portion of butter on it. “We’ve all been busy, Miss Sloane,” he murmured. “You most of all.”

She smiled. “Listen to you! Those manners! Why, you almost sound charming.”

He raised a brow as he popped the bread in his mouth.

Still ignoring her plate, she leaned a little closer. “Did you find that difficult?”

“Not at all,” he replied lightly. He speared a thin portion of the sole and bit into it gratefully, thankful to have a reason to stop speaking with her. The fish had been poached in butter and lemon and practically melted in his mouth. He wished he had been able to savor it.

Impatiently, Veronica signaled that she was finished with the course. After a moment’s pause, a servant briskly pulled the untouched dish from the table.

When her spot was cleared, she visibly relaxed. “My brother and I have a bet,” she murmured. “We’re wondering who you are avoiding. Is it me? Or is it Douglass? Or is it someone else in our home entirely?”

Reid decided to play along, not wishing to cause a scene. “I have no idea what you mean. As I said, I have been much occupied with other pressing engagements.”

“No, you did not say that,” she replied, her voice chilled. “You said nothing about engagements. Who has captured your attention?”

He didn’t want to be difficult, but he also didn’t want to have this conversation with her, especially not within the hearing of other people at the table. “Forgive me, but I am finding this conversation tedious,” he said, a bit more loudly than was proper, risking causing a scene after all.

As he’d hoped, Veronica’s shoulders stiffened and the lines around her lips whitened. But at last she did what he’d hoped she would—she turned to the person on her left and began conversing.

Eloisa was seated on his right. As he took another bite of fish, she leaned toward him. “That was a tad harsh, Mr. Armstrong.”

“I know, and I am sorry for it.” Rather, he was sorry she’d heard him.

She shook her head slightly, the movement making the diamond pins nestled in her golden coiffure sparkle in the candlelight’s glow. “Oh, I didn’t mean you should apologize for it. It was deserved.”

There was nothing he could say to that without seeming more of a cad. “Tell me, how is your brother enjoying his European tour? My sister, Beth, seems to be enjoying her visit to Paris immensely.” As conversational transitions went, it was poorly executed. Yet he gazed at her, hoping to convey without words his need to move on.

She didn’t disappoint. Eloisa paused, then smiled graciously. “Currently, Thomas is in Italy. In Venice. Would you care to hear about his latest letter?”

“Nothing would please me more.”

She began a somewhat amusing anecdote that involved her brother, a stray cat, and some unfortunate valet with an allergy. Looking at
her pretty expression and her perfect manners, Reid breathed a sigh of relief. Eloisa was everything gracious and kind—the opposite of Veronica Sloane with her skeletal frame, caustic conversation, and harsh criticism of anything and everyone.

Hours later in the ballroom, Veronica strolled by with one of Douglass’s more reprobate acquaintances. “Forgive me for embarrassing you earlier, Reid,” she said. “I had only been wondering if you knew about our Rosalind.”

“What about her?”

“She is gone.”

Icy fear made his voice overly loud. “Has she gone missing?”

Veronica flinched while her escort looked mildly intrigued. “Gone missing?” An eyebrow arched. “Heavens, no. She was fired.”

“Fired?” he barked.

“Have a care, Armstrong. There are ladies present,” Veronica’s escort cautioned.

Reid didn’t care who heard him. “On what grounds?”

Veronica smiled so broadly, her top teeth gleamed in the glow of the candles. “For her poor behavior, of course. For some reason, she couldn’t keep away from the gentlemen. It caused quite a stir.”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t think she’ll ever learn how to be a lady.” Then she smirked. “I’m sorry, I meant a lady’s maid.”

“Where did she go?”

All traces of amusement fled from her face. “Where does any woman go when she has little money, no friends, and no job?”

“That was practically a death sentence.”

“It was hardly that.” She sniffed. “But I do have a feeling she’s wishing right now that she’d done a few things differently. I’ve heard the streets can be unkind to a woman on her own.”

The man beside her grinned. “You should have sent her my way,
Veronica. If she isn’t ugly I would have given her shelter. At least for an hour or two.”

“Perhaps she found someone else to do the honors?” With another backward glance at Reid, Veronica circled her hands around the gentleman’s arm and walked away.

Leaving Reid to stand in fuming silence. Thinking what he thought to be the worst . . . and then fearing things even worse than that.

CHAPTER 25

R
osalind spent her first night away from Sloane House in a small room in a cheap hotel five blocks from Michigan Avenue. Trying to find lodging so late in the day had been humbling. Walking the streets, carpetbag in her hand, had garnered her far more attention than she’d been prepared for. More than one man had lewdly propositioned her. Others had looked at her stuffed bag with a critical eye.

Rosalind had feared they were planning to either snatch it out of her hands or follow her into a dark alleyway. Just as bad, she knew she was wearing that same lost look she’d worn the first day she’d arrived in the city. And that expression, of course, was the altogether worst expression to have. It set her up for a great many dangers.

With each step, she was learning that though she’d had a great many experiences in Chicago, had thought she had grown into someone more confident, she hadn’t really changed at all. She still felt lost and hopelessly alone.

Her first two attempts at finding lodging had failed horribly. One
place was at full capacity and the other was not interested in housing someone like her. The landlady at her third stop must have seen something in Rosalind’s expression that softened her mood, because she reluctantly rented her a room—for a full dollar over the advertised price. Rosalind had been so scared and weary she hadn’t bothered to argue. Instead, she paid the fee, carried her bag to her room, and praised God that her room had a secure lock.

Now, in the early light of a new day, her mind was clearer and she felt a new resolve.

No matter how afraid she was, she couldn’t leave Chicago without trying harder to fulfill her mission. She needed to discover what had happened to Miranda. And at this point, she needed to be willing to do whatever it took to achieve her goal.

That meant she needed to swallow her pride, find Reid Armstrong, and ask for his assistance. Knowing that she couldn’t simply find his home and knock on the door because she didn’t have his address, she went to the only place where she had a reasonable expectation of finding him and could wait for him safely—the church where she’d watched him sing in the choir.

After putting on her best dress, Rosalind pinned and smoothed her hair as best she could and carried her carpetbag down the narrow, rickety stairs. Even going down the stairs took some negotiating. There was no way she was going to carry her bag all over Chicago if she didn’t have to.

She found the landlady in the dining room, serving coffee. “There you are,” the woman said. “You going to be wanting breakfast? A quarter will get you coffee, toast, eggs, and bacon.”

The food sounded heavenly, and the aroma reminded her that she’d missed dinner the night before. “Thank you.” She took a seat at a small table in the back of the room.

A few minutes later, a young girl who looked to be no older than nine or ten brought out a dish of eggs and bacon and a large cup of coffee. Rosalind thanked her and dug in. The coffee was hot and rich, and the eggs and bacon were far better than she’d anticipated. When she was about halfway done, the landlady brought her a small plate filled with three slices of toast.

“Eat up, dear,” she said in a kind, frazzled way. “You look like a strong wind could blow you away.”

“It’s very good.”

Rosalind ate every last crumb. After all, there was no guarantee that she was going to have much luck finding Reid anytime soon.

When the landlady came by again, she asked, “Ma’am, could I leave my suitcase here for a few hours?”

“You don’t want to spend another night?”

“I’d rather not if I don’t have to. I’m on a strict budget.”

“Where are you going instead?”

“I’m hoping to stay with a friend.” When the woman’s expression darkened with distaste, Rosalind felt her cheeks flush. She knew what she sounded like. Only women with bad reputations had no real lodging plans. Knowing she was about to be asking for Mr. Armstrong’s charity didn’t make things easier.