Secrets of Sloane House (27 page)

For the most part, they listened without interrupting. The only time they spoke was when one of them asked to clarify her story or to ask her for her feelings about Douglass or Veronica.

At last, Mrs. Armstrong leaned back and shook her head in wonder. “My goodness, Rosalind. You have certainly had quite an adventure.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I want you to rest for a day or so and let the rest of us do a bit of investigating.”

“Oh no, ma’am. I’m afraid I couldn’t do that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Though Reid, I mean, Mr. Armstrong, invited me to be a guest here, I couldn’t stay out of charity. I’d really like to earn my keep.”

“It’s a big home, dear. There is plenty of room for you.”

“No—”

“It would be a great service to us all if you could sit with my father, who is ill,” Reid interjected smoothly. “Could you do that? He doesn’t care for his nurse.” His voice warmed. “If you could sit with him, help him get his meals, perhaps play cards or read to him from time to time? That would help us all immensely.”

“Of course I would be happy to do that. But I could also work in the kitchens or help—”

“Definitely not,” Mrs. Armstrong interjected. “My staff won’t know what to think about you being down in the kitchens. In addition, I have a full staff at the moment. All the chores and duties are being covered.”

Rosalind knew what Mrs. Armstrong said was true. As much as she ached to not be a burden, she also was now very aware of how a big household was run. Catering to her need to feel useful would not help anyone but her. It would actually disturb the well-run balance that already existed. “I understand.”

“Good.” She rose to her feet. “Now, let’s get you settled in your room. I want you to rest for a bit now, and then Reid will take you to his father’s room and introduce you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Reid stood up as well. “I’m very glad you are here, Rosalind. I’ll knock on your door in an hour.”

“Yes, Mr. Armstrong.” She ached to thank him again. Ached to call him Reid, ached to step into his arms like she did at the church. But this was neither the right place nor the right time. Instead, after sharing a long look with him, they parted, he darting off to a room down the hall, she following his mother up the stairs.

The staircase was winding. At the top of the stairs, the hallway
broke into thirds. To Rosalind’s pleasure, she noticed each wing was painted a slightly varying shade of gray. The wing Mrs. Armstrong guided her down was faintly blue in tint. Small prints of botanicals dotted the narrow hallway. The effect was soothing.

Her room was at the end of the hall. It was small but well appointed. Though it wasn’t nearly as grand as Veronica Sloane’s, it was a far cry from the small room at the top of the Sloane mansion where she’d stayed with Nanci.

“I hope you will find this comfortable, dear,” Mrs. Armstrong said.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Before the lady could rush off, Rosalind said, “I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

“You don’t need to. We want to help you find your sister. And if that can’t be done, we want to help you, dear.”

“I’m grateful, but I’m afraid I don’t understand why. From the very beginning, Reid, I mean, Mr. Armstrong, has been so kind to me.”

“It’s probably because you’ve been kind to him as well.”

“Not all the time,” she admitted.

“Well, there might be another reason. We believe in Jesus, Rosalind. Do you?”

“I . . . I think so. I mean, I have faith.”

“Jesus did so much for so many, never asking them what was in it for him. He taught us all to be kind and to help those in need. We’re Christians. And we have faith.” She shrugged. “I’m not explaining myself very well. All I can say is that it gives me much happiness to help you. To not just say I want to make a difference in someone else’s life, but to actually do so. I think Reid is much the same way.”

“I’m grateful. Perhaps one day I’ll be able to say I’ve done the same.”

Mrs. Armstrong’s eyes turned luminous. “Oh, you dear child, you don’t see it, do you?” When Rosalind shook her head, she added, “You
already have sacrificed yourself for someone you love.” She waved a hand around the room. “Think of all you have already done for your sister! You’ve left your home, and you’ve worked hard to learn information. You’ve humbled yourself for her.”

“But none of it has helped. Even though I’ve tried so hard, nothing has changed. I’ve still failed.”

“You don’t actually know that, do you? You don’t know how the Lord has been working through you. You don’t know how your efforts have rubbed off on other people and encouraged them to open their hearts to Miranda. You don’t know, because you can’t know. Only the Lord does.”

Rosalind wanted to believe Mrs. Armstrong’s words. “I hope you are right. I would like nothing better than to know that I’ve helped Miranda in spite of my mistakes.”

“I can’t promise all your efforts will have a happy outcome, Rosalind. No one can promise you that. But I can promise you that your faith will carry you through. Faith helps us all survive both the lowest points in life and some of the best.”

She turned and left, leaving Rosalind to her thoughts.

She thought about what Mrs. Armstrong had said and couldn’t help but be struck by how right the words sounded. After all, she knew a lot about surviving the hardest of times. But she’d certainly never thought about surviving good times too. But it did make sense. Each moment in her life made her a different person than who she was before. Both the good and the bad influenced her in ways she never could have imagined.

The fact that she was able to keep going? That was something to celebrate. To even praise God for—again and again and again.

Satisfied that Rosalind was getting settled in her guest room, Reid was doing his best to get through a large stack of his father’s correspondence when his mother entered the room.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work, but I think we need to talk.”

It seemed to him that they’d been doing little but talking. “Can it wait? I want to post some of these letters before dinner this evening.”

His mother sat down. “It cannot.”

“All right then.” He leaned back. “What is wrong?”

“It is about Rosalind.”

Concerned, he got to his feet. “What is wrong?” he asked again. “She moved in on your invitation, Mother. Yours and Father’s.”

“Dear, I am not referring to that. Rather, I’m more concerned about your relationship with her.”

“Mother, I am her friend.”

“Are you sure that is all it is? Because I am fairly sure I saw something else brewing between the two of you.”

He was taken aback. And more than a bit embarrassed. “I do believe I am long past the age of seeking my mother’s permission for friendships.”

“I agree. But, Reid, I fear you are developing a
tendre
for this girl—this maid.”

She was hitting closer to the truth than he was comfortable with. He did have some feelings for Rosalind. He wanted to think they only revolved around pity and a need to improve her situation. But if he was honest, he’d have to admit that he’d found himself gazing at her with something more like desire more than once.

What he hadn’t realized was that it had been noticeable to anyone else.

Feeling frustrated with himself, he lashed out. “Perhaps I am.”

His mother frowned. “It is not that she isn’t a lovely girl, Reid,”
she continued, just as if he’d not said a word. “As a matter of fact, I think she is very pretty. With the right clothes and hair? She might even be stunning.”

He folded his hands across the surface of his father’s oak desk. “And your point is?”

“My point is that I hope your desire to help a housemaid won’t interfere with your place in society. Your father has sacrificed much to propel you into the upper echelons of Chicago. The young lady you take as your wife needs to reflect your position.”

“In other words, taking an undercover maid as my wife will do me no favors.”

Her eyes flashed. “I am not joking about this, Reid. Do not take my words lightly.”

“I am doing no such thing. But, please, don’t forget that I am no green debutante. I am a grown man who needs to follow his conscience . . . and his heart.”

“I . . . I see.” Standing with a flick of her skirts, she artfully arranged her gown, then left the room.

Only when he was alone again did he dare exhale and face the complete truth: no woman would ever intrigue him like Rosalind did. Actually, he was fairly sure that no woman would ever come close. He was fairly sure he was falling in love.

The only problem was that he had no idea what to do about that.

CHAPTER 28

“W
ell, don’t just sit there, Rosie,” Mr. Emerson Armstrong barked moments after his son left them alone. “Start talking.”

“What would you like me to talk about, Mr. Armstrong? And I’m sorry, but my name is Rosalind.”

“That’s too stuffy for a girl like you. I like Rosie better.”

She was momentarily taken aback. “So if you like it better, that should become my name?”

“That would be a yes.” He opened one eye, the exact shade of green as his son’s. “Do you have a problem with that?”

She knew she had no choice about what she should be called. The Armstrongs had taken her in and were offering her shelter while so many others had not. With that in mind, she decided she had no problem being called Rosie.

“Not at all, sir.”

“Good. Now start telling me about yourself.”

“You want to hear my life story?” She said the words as a bit of a joke. But by the look on his face it was apparent that that was exactly what he had in mind.

“Perhaps I should pour us some tea? This might take awhile.”

“I don’t want any tea. But go get yourself some. Can’t have you being parched in my company.”

Hiding a smile, she crossed the room to the pretty table, where a full tea service had been placed—by someone other than her. That was something to celebrate in itself.

Another thing to celebrate was Reid’s father. The older man had certainly taken her by surprise. He was nothing like his son. Where Reid was polished good looks and perfect manners, his father was wrinkled, disheveled, and disarmingly blunt. Instead of speaking quietly, his words flew out of his mouth in spurts and sputters, each word hitting her with a staccato beat.

His accent wasn’t nearly as formal or high-class as Reid’s or even his wife’s. Visiting with him made Rosalind feel completely at ease. Though she would never forget their differences in social status, the lines didn’t seem as stark or strict in his presence.

Quickly, she added a bit of milk to her tea, then returned to sit next to him. “Well, I should start by saying that I grew up on a farm in Wisconsin.”

“How many brothers and sisters?”

“I’m one of five.”

“Five is a good round number,” he said with a smile. “I’m one of five myself.”

“Then we have something in common, perhaps.”

One eye opened again. “We might have more in common than that, Rosie.” As his eye closed, he waved his left hand impatiently. “Well, go on.”

“I am the second eldest. My sister, Miranda, was the eldest. I mean, is the oldest.”

His expression turned thoughtful. “What do you think, Rosalind? Do you think she’s still alive?”

Reid had never asked such a direct question. She’d never dared to ask herself such a question. But to her surprise, she found she was ready to face it. Taking a breath, she gave voice to her secret fear.

“No. I don’t think she was abducted. I don’t think she ran off. I think she’s dead.”

“I see.”

“You’re not going to encourage me to hold out hope?”

“No.” Both eyes opened this time and stared at her. His gaze was piercing. Direct. “Here’s why: If she was anything like you, Miranda wouldn’t simply vanish. You are too loyal. Even if she was only half as loyal as you? I doubt she would have left you all without a single word. If she were alive, she would have found some way, no matter how difficult, to contact her family.”

She was stunned. This man she barely knew had been able to focus on the one trait she knew ran especially strong in her family. It was one of the reasons Miranda had left home in the first place, to help support her siblings. It was why her father had endured the ridicule of the police when he’d journeyed to the city to ask questions. It was why she’d pretended to be someone she wasn’t, all in an attempt to discover the truth.

“You’re right, sir.”

“You needn’t sound so surprised. I usually am.” He chuckled softly, his laughter fading into a harsh cough that looked like it took the wind right out of him.

“Sorry.”

“Would you care for some tea now?”

A look of distaste crossed his features. But he still held out his hand. “No milk. Only one sugar cube.”

Rosalind hastened to her feet, then quickly poured him a cup. After stirring in the sugar cube, she carefully carried the teacup to him and helped his shaking hands maneuver it to his lips. After four sips, he leaned back with another angry cough.

Rosalind took the cup from his hands and carefully set it on his bedside table. Then she continued her story. “Anyway, after Miranda and me, there are three boys—Henry, Steven, and Ethan.”