Secrets of Sloane House (35 page)

Next, he closed his eyes, gave a quick blessing, then at last dug into his meal. “So how was sitting with the staff in the kitchen?” he asked after he’d consumed a few spoonfuls of his cream of broccoli soup.

“I liked it very much. Your maid, Erin, promised me the staff here was different, and she was right.”

That interested him. “Different how?”

“Different, happy. Less stressed.”

He had to smile at that. “It’s probably because we don’t know how to act properly for the servants.”

“No, it’s probably because you all are nicer to them. I also heard that your mother doesn’t like to entertain all that much.”

“No. Well, not grand parties.”

“That’s something your staff is grateful for. Preparing for a grand dinner can be an exhausting business.”

“So I’ve been told.” He tucked into his sandwich, thinking about the differences in staff. Thinking about how comfortable he felt just being around Rosalind.

She seemed to be feeling contented too.

He hated to ruin their few moments of peace, but he knew something had to be said. “Rosalind, I truly am sorry about your sister. But perhaps one day you might find comfort by knowing that justice will be served.”

“Perhaps.” Her bottom lip trembled, but she held her composure. “I am upset, but not shocked. I think I knew in my heart that she wasn’t alive and she was probably a victim of foul play. I told your father as much.”

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and rested his palm on her
back. When he felt her muscles loosen, he gently rubbed the line of tension between her shoulder blades. “If it’s any consolation, one day you will know that the truth was only discovered because of you,” he murmured.

“Perhaps one day I will be glad I discovered what really happened to her.” She rested against his hand for a moment before straightening abruptly. “I’m wondering if my parents are ever going to be pleased about my discovering the truth, having to accept that Miranda is dead.”

“But that’s why they sent you here,” he pointed out. “You cannot help that the truth wasn’t what they hoped to hear.”

“They sent me here with grand dreams. For some reason, my parents imagined that I would be able to single-handedly find Miranda, wrestle her from whatever situation she was in, and bring her straight home.” Clenching her hands into fists, she whispered, “For a time, I actually thought that was possible. Now I realize it was all a pipe dream.” She stood up, turned away to gaze out the window.

It would be so easy to stay where he was. To remind himself that nothing was between them. Not really. Instead, he crossed the room and curved his hands around her slim shoulders. Hoping to remind her that she wasn’t alone. “You tried your best. And what you did accomplish was noteworthy. Your family will be proud of you.”

She didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge his touch. “I doubt that. When I return and tell them everything, all we’ll have left is our reality. All their hopes will be shattered.”

“But you will have the truth. That is something.”

“Yes, though it’s sometimes easier to live with denial.”

Thinking about his dreams of making his parents proud by marrying a woman of elevated circumstances, about his decision to continually ignore his qualms about Douglass’s behavior out of a misguided feeling of obligation, made him nod. “I suppose that is true.”

He’d put up so many boundaries where the two of them were concerned. He’d pretended her social station mattered, though his wasn’t all that exceptional.

He’d pretended they were too different, because he’d had so many opportunities in his life while she’d had far too few.

And he’d tried to refute his attraction to her by imagining that her looks weren’t as polished as any young debutante’s. Or that he shouldn’t be noticing that a young maid in a misshapen uniform could stir him as much as an expensively clothed girl in silk.

Hmm. It turned out that he, too, hadn’t been all that ready to accept the truth.

He knew he had two choices now. He could concentrate on the truth and a future he wanted, or he could continue to pretend to want things that would never be.

Put that way? He had only one choice.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered into the nape of her neck.

She swayed a bit, leaning into his touch. Or maybe it was his words? “I can’t leave, remember? I promised the police I wouldn’t leave the city until they said I could.”

Had she misunderstood him? Or was she merely choosing to pretend she did?

He parted his lips, ready to explain himself, ready to at last kiss her neck, to pull her closer . . . when a burst of insight helped him see things more clearly.

He needed to go slowly.

She’d just been told her sister had been murdered. His own father was upstairs dying. Perhaps now was not the best time to declare his feelings.

But—just perhaps—he could hint at things a bit?

He ran his fingertips down her arms.

“Rosalind, if you weren’t here, I would miss you.”

She trembled under his touch, but she did not turn to face him. “I can’t imagine why. I’ve brought you nothing but trouble.”

“That isn’t true. You’ve brought me something very special.”

“And what was that?”

“A new belief in myself. Hope for the future. If you go, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t want you to go.” He swallowed, then made himself think of her needs. “Unless . . . unless you want to leave me.”

After the span of a heartbeat, she sighed. “I would miss you too. I hate to admit it out loud, Reid. But I would miss you too.”

He could no longer resist the temptation. He brushed his lips against the nape of her neck. Leaned closer, kissed her jawline. She sighed.

“You know what?” she said. “God is so very good, don’t you think? Here, even in the darkest hours, he gives us light. Here, my sister was murdered and your father is dying. I’m out of a job, and you have lost someone you once thought to be a good friend. Even in times like this, we’ve found each other. He reminds us that we cannot completely give in to despair.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, liking the way she felt against him. Liking the feel of her in his arms. “You are right, Rosalind,” he murmured. “God is, indeed, so very good.”

She was right. For a few scant moments this day, he’d been doubtful and depressed. Sad and despondent. He’d let himself forget so many things.

But then God had brought Rosalind into his life, into this room. And in doing so, the Lord had reminded Reid just how much he had to be grateful for.

And he was, indeed, so grateful.

CHAPTER 36

B
y noon the following day, the Armstrong household had already welcomed four callers. Dr. Nolan arrived to sit vigil, saying that it was only hours—or even minutes—now until his father passed into heaven.

Next, Eloisa came and refused to leave, admitting that she’d rather help in any way she could instead of sit alone with her thoughts at her own house. When Reid said that her presence eased them all, she picked up his mother’s embroidery basket, scooped out a rat’s nest of jumbled floss, and asked if she could sit with Rosalind while she untangled the strands.

Reid summoned Rosalind right away.

After a few minutes of shyness, Rosalind accepted Eloisa’s offer of friendship with alacrity. She knew the young lady had been through a lot. She also knew she was a lady through and through and was so happy that a woman like Eloisa wanted to get to know her better.

A little over an hour later, Detective Ryan and Officer Carter
called. After handing Watterson a card, they requested a private audience with Rosalind Pettit, who was now going by her real name, Rosalind Perry. Reid attempted to intervene and join her, but the police were firm, Detective Ryan even going so far as to say that they were already doing Rosalind a favor by conducting the interview at the Armstrongs’ home instead of at the police station.

Though Reid had looked like he had quite a bit to say about that comment, he held his tongue and only indicated that he would be waiting in the drawing room at the end of the interview.

After sharing a look with Eloisa, Rosalind followed the policemen into Mrs. Armstrong’s private sitting room, where she answered many of the same questions once again.

The detective looked perturbed when she told them how her father’s visit to their headquarters had been handled. But still the questions and statements continued.

Though their questioning was difficult, Rosalind actually didn’t mind it all that much. She’d felt as if she had been on a wild-goose chase by herself—at least until Reid stepped in. She’d had no resources, little knowledge of the city, and no true knowledge of Miranda’s life in Chicago. All she’d really had was a strong sense that something had happened to her sister and enough stubbornness to attempt to see her search to the end.

They eventually confided that Mrs. Sloane had been sent to a private mental hospital. No charges had been made against Douglass, on the other hand, because no woman had ever come forward. For a split second, Rosalind wondered if Eloisa would be willing to stand up against him, but she quickly pushed that idea to one side. She was worldly enough now to realize that Eloisa’s testifying would do little good. Douglass would dispute her and she would lose a little bit more of herself.

It was obvious that the Sloane family was extremely influential, perhaps even with members of the police. They also had an army of lawyers at their disposal.

Detective Ryan did promise that a number of officers would once again look for Miranda’s body, which Rosalind supposed would be a blessing. She knew she and her family would like to give Miranda a Christian burial.

However, she didn’t hold out much hope. Months had now passed. The police detective had described a variety of things that could have happened to her sister’s body, each one more upsetting than the last. Rosalind began to think that perhaps it would be best—for her parents at least—to always remember Miranda as she had been when she left their farm. Determined and beautiful. Headstrong and optimistic. Full of life.

Two hours later, the interview was over. After giving them her address in Wisconsin, she was told she could leave Chicago.

“We are sorry about your sister, miss,” the detective said as he shook her hand good-bye.

When she was alone, she sat back down on the settee. Her mind felt numb. At last, her adventure was over. The tears started to fall. Whether from grief for her sister or relief that she’d at last discovered the truth, she wasn’t sure.

Maybe she was even sad to be leaving Chicago and all the people she’d met and gotten to know. As frightening and emotional as her time here had been, she knew she was going to miss her new friends. She was going to miss her life here.

Two hours after that, Mr. Armstrong went to heaven.

As black bunting was draped over the windows and the house settled into mourning, Rosalind made a decision. She was going to stay a little bit longer. After visiting with the housekeeper and the
cook, she slipped on a clean white apron and began to help out as much as she could. It was the least she could do for the Armstrong family, the very least she could do for Reid.

And, she realized, exactly what she did need at the moment. She needed to do something for someone else. There would be plenty of time to go home and return to her old way of life. Just not yet.

She simply wasn’t ready.

Two weeks later

Her old carpetbag and a new one were packed. She was ready to go.

Sitting on the steps in the foyer, Rosalind waited for Reid and his mother to come downstairs. Mrs. Armstrong wanted to give her a final good-bye, then Reid was going to take her to the train station in his carriage.

He’d insisted on paying for her train ticket home.

“Oh, good, miss. You’re still here,” Cook proclaimed as she trundled forward, carrying a metal pail covered in floral linens in her hands. “All of us downstairs have been wantin’ to give you this.”

Rosalind took it and peeked inside. In the pail was an assortment of sandwiches and cookies, an apple, and a little note too. “This all looks wonderful. Thank you so much.”

“It was the least we could do for you.” Cook shook her head. “I’ve never met a girl like you. You stepped right in and helped everyone in the house. We’ll be sad to see you go.”

Only by sheer force of will could she keep her bottom lip from
trembling. “Thank you.” Fingering the note, she said, “Shall I read it now?”

“Definitely not! You’ll make us all blush. Read it when the train leaves the station. It will give you something to do.”

“I’ll do that, then. Thank you again.”

Cook leaned forward. “Just between you and me? We were all hoping that you would be able to stay. You’ve been a real ray of sunshine, you have.”

“You all were so welcoming that you made my time here quite pleasant. But this household is so well run, there’s no opening for me, I’m afraid.”

Cook looked at her in surprise. “None of the staff was thinking about you working here. We were hoping that something would have happened between you and young Mr. Armstrong.”