Secrets of Sloane House (9 page)

“Mother, she broke three cups and saucers,” Veronica interrupted in a shrill voice. “Of the Haviland.”

“It is only china, darling.”

Veronica’s cheeks burned red. “But—”

“And you’ve broken more in fits of rage than any of us can count,” Douglass interjected as he joined them, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. “Really, Veronica. You’d think she broke your heart.”

Still holding Rosalind’s elbow, Mrs. Sloane sighed in relief.
“Douglass, thank goodness you’re here. Please help your sister greet her guests while I help . . .” Her voice faltered.

“I’m Rosalind, ma’am.”

“Yes. While I help Rosalind.”

Veronica’s look was pure venom. “Mother, she doesn’t need your help. She needs to be fired.”

“For a couple of broken teacups?” Douglass drawled. “Surely even you can’t be that heartless, sister.”

Jerome arrived and helped Mrs. Abrams efficiently pick up the remaining shards of china and set everything to rights. Still standing next to Mrs. Sloane, Rosalind knew she was on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry, madam,” she murmured. “I’m not sure what happened.”

Mrs. Sloane clucked. “Don’t distress yourself any further. As I said, it’s only china. Now, go on to the kitchen and have Cook tend to you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. I really am so sorry.” Before she turned to exit the room, she looked at the crowd in the once pristine conservatory. Veronica was standing in the center of the room, glowering. Mrs. Sloane looked pensive. Mrs. Abrams eyed her with disapproval. Jerome looked mildly amused.

And Douglass . . . Douglass’s gaze was unwavering as he walked out of the room by her side. “Don’t fret, pet,” he said almost kindly. “All that really matters is that you weren’t hurt any worse.”

“Yes, sir,” she murmured.

“And don’t let my sister scare you too much. I’ll take care of her.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sloane.”

When she met his gaze, he winked.

“It’s Douglass. Remember, you said you were going to call me that when we were alone.”

As she parted ways with him just a few feet from the servants’
hall, Rosalind knew something important had just happened. Douglass had come to her defense against the wishes of his sister. Unequivocally. She now was in his debt.

Rosalind was certain that they both knew it.

CHAPTER 8

M
rs. Russell frowned when she studied the cuts on the palm of Rosalind’s hand. They were bleeding, and some shards were no doubt embedded deep inside at least one of the cuts. “This looks as bad as if you’d gotten on the losing end of a knife fight! You’re going to need some stitches, I think.”

Rosalind looked at her smarting hand. “Cook, are you sure?”

“Oh, I am certain.” Glancing at Dora, the assistant cook, Mrs. Russell snapped her fingers. “Fetch the doctor, wouldja?”

Right after the shy woman flew from the kitchen, Cook clucked a bit. “Everything’ll be as right as rain before you know it. Dora don’t look like much, but she’s fast on her feet, she is. And the Sloane name gets results. That doctor will be here in a jiffy.”

But even the thought of getting patched up quickly didn’t make Rosalind feel any better. “I don’t see why Mrs. Sloane would pay for the expense of having the doctor here.” Especially since she’d just broken several pieces of expensive china.

Cook waved off her worries. “Don’t you worry about that none. Here at Sloane House, appearance is everything. The last thing anyone—most especially Mrs. Sloane—will want to get out is that the family pinched pennies on their servants.” Peering at her a bit more closely, she frowned, her usually merry golden eyes looking worried. “Now sit down before you fall down. You’re looking peaked.”

Because she did feel rather light-headed, Rosalind gladly sank down on the kitchen chair, trying not to focus on the pain throbbing in her hand or the way it continued to bleed.

As if Cook was thinking the same thing, she placed a neat stack of old dishcloths under Rosalind’s hand, no doubt to save the oak table from permanent stains. There was already some blood on Rosalind’s uniform.

Less than ten minutes later, Dora reappeared.

Cook looked up. “You must have run like the wind.”

Dora rolled her eyes. “Jerome told me to tell you that Mrs. Sloane had already sent him for Dr. Nolan. Jerome said the doctor should be here presently.”

“See there, Rosalind? Things will be just fine in no time.” Cook smiled kindly, but even through her pain, Rosalind could tell that things were very far from fine.

“Do you think I’ll be dismissed?”

“Over a few broken teacups? I shouldn’t think so.”

But Rosalind noticed that Cook didn’t look her in the eye when she spoke and that Dora looked worried.

Turning to Stanley, who had just wandered in, she said, “Miss Veronica said those dishes were Haviland. That means they were expensive, right?”

He nodded. “Everything’s expensive here.”

Well, that certainly didn’t make her feel any better.

“You know what?” Cook blurted. “I think we could all use a nice cup of tea.” Turning to Dora, who had just gotten out her rolling pin, she said, “Dora, be a love and make us a cuppa, would you? Bring one for Dr. Nolan too. He’s always a mite parched when he arrives.”

“Coming right up.”

Dora had just handed Cook, Stanley, and Rosalind each a steaming cup when the door opened. In walked Mrs. Abrams, followed by a man in a charcoal suit. “Here is Dr. Nolan, Rosalind. He’ll be seeing to your hand.”

Dr. Nolan looked to be in his early forties, was bald, had a mustache, and wore wire-rimmed glasses. Somehow his unusual looks made him more handsome than the opposite. He also had a calm, competent way about him that eased Rosalind’s fears for the first time all day.

Tears pricked her eyes. Even if she was about to be fired, she was grateful to have a real doctor stitch her up. “Thank you, Mrs. Abrams. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

Mrs. Abrams’ cool expression looked a bit incredulous, reminding Rosalind that of course all the events over the course of the last two hours had been too much trouble.

Instead of answering Rosalind, she merely turned to Cook. “Please inform Jerome when the doctor is ready to depart. I’ll make sure he is paid.”

“Will do.”

While the women had been talking, Dr. Nolan had removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and washed his hands with some of the strong kitchen soap. Now he opened his bag and pulled out a pair of tweezers, bandages, a needle, and what appeared to be thread.

Once settled, he sat next to Rosalind and looked at her through his lenses in a kind way. “What is your name, miss?”

“Rosalind.”

“Let’s see how things look, shall we?” After a moment, he picked up her hand, gently cradling her knuckles and wrist as he peered into the wound. “You’ve got yourself a sizable injury. It’s a blessing that the china didn’t cut you an inch higher. If it had, your wrist could have been scored.”

Imagining the blood that would have come from that injury, she felt dizziness wash over her.

Cook whistled low. “Chin up, dear. We can’t take your vapors right now.”

Kind Dora sat down on her other side and grabbed Rosalind’s other hand. “Squeeze my hand if you start to feel woozy.”

With a shaky smile, Rosalind nodded.

“Rosalind, this is going to hurt, but there’s no getting around it, I’m afraid. You have shards embedded.” With Cook’s able assistance, the doctor carefully used his tweezers and pulled out the shards that were visible. Then, with a regretful wince, he said, “I’m sorry,” and dug a bit more.

Through barely opened eyes, she saw him pull out a thin splinter of china. “Success!” he said, looking genuinely pleased. Next he cleansed her hand, poured a little powder into the wound, threaded his needle, and began to stitch.

Feeling more light-headed by the second, Rosalind closed her eyes, desperately trying not to sway and succumb to weakness.

As if she knew just how much Rosalind was on the verge of breaking down, or at least fainting into a slump, Dora started talking. “You know what? This reminds me of the last time you were here in the kitchens, Dr. Nolan.”

“I remember that well.” The doctor chuckled. “I was here to stitch up another housemaid,” he explained to Rosalind. “For the second time in as many weeks.”

“That Miranda,” Cook said with a laugh. “She was always raising havoc.”

Dora nodded. “Pretty girl, terrible maid—except for doing hair.”

“Did you say Miranda?” Rosalind asked. After their first conversation about her, she was surprised Cook was willing to discuss Miranda again.

“Yes. Remember, she’s the housemaid who went missing,” Cook replied, a new, uneasy tone edging into her voice.

“The one before Tilly, that is,” Dora said helpfully.

Cook scowled. “Did you hear? The grocer told me that our Tilly ran off with a soldier she’d met at the market.”

“No wonder she never minded going to the market for you!” Dora teased.

“Wish she woulda been honest with me. I would’ve been understanding.” After spying Dora’s incredulous look, she chuckled. “Well, maybe not. But still, her taking off without a word to anyone gave me a fright, it did.”

“I’m glad Tilly is all right,” Rosalind said as the doctor poked and prodded some more. “I was worried about her,” she squeaked out as he poked around an especially tender spot.

“You would have liked Miranda very much, Rosalind,” Cook went on. “In some ways, you actually remind me of her.”

“How so?”

“She was pretty, like you are. Though her coloring was a bit more vivid,” Cook explained.

“Red hair. Striking, it was,” Dr. Nolan murmured, just as his needle pinched her palm again.

“Oh, but she was a flighty thing,” Dora added. “Always had her head in the clouds, she did.”

“And always late,” Cook murmured.

“Why . . . why did she need Dr. Nolan’s services?”

Dr. Nolan paused, no longer smiling. “The first time I saw her? She’d walked into the corner of a mantel and cut her eye.”

“She never did look where she was going,” Cook murmured.

“But that second time, it was for a far more serious reason,” Dr. Nolan said. “She had cuts. Lot of them.”

Miranda had never mentioned this in her letters, Rosalind thought.

“It was the queerest thing,” Dora mused. “She was in the billiard room and dropped a whole tray of glasses right to the floor. A whole tray!”

“It made quite a racket,” Cook said. “The whole house practically went running to the room to see what had happened.”

Rosalind’s heart was pounding, this time nothing to do with her injury and everything to do with the story she was hearing unfold. “And what had happened?”

“As a matter of fact, no one really knows. Miranda wouldn’t say a word about it. Always swore that she was alone, but I, for one, never thought that was true,” Dora said.

Cook sniffed. “Anyways, she got cut trying to pick up all that glass.”

“She needed stitches in three different places and would hardly sit still for any of it,” Dr. Nolan reflected. “It was like it pained her to remain in a chair.”

“Why was that? Had she fallen or something?”

“She wouldn’t say. Actually, she refused to discuss it at all.”

Pausing, he met Rosalind’s eye. “You’re a much better patient, my dear.”

She was so stunned to hear the story, she felt as if her whole body had gone numb. “So you never found out what really happened?”

“Nope, but it weren’t like we had much of a chance.” Cook’s voice dropped. “She left us soon after.”

“Without a word of good-bye to any of us,” Dora added. “Just like Tilly.”

With a snip of his scissors, Dr. Nolan said, “The important thing is that I am sure Miranda healed up just fine, as I am sure you will, Rosalind. However, I must caution you not to use your hand for at least two days. The wound was deep. You needed twelve stitches.”

Twelve! Almost as bad as the wound was the thought that she wouldn’t be able to do her job. If she couldn’t do her job, she could get fired. Then she would have no way of learning more about her sister. “Are you sure?”

“I counted them myself.” His voice was firm, allowing no argument. “If you don’t allow the sutures to heal, infection could set in and that could be very dangerous.”

“Listen to him, Rosalind,” Cook warned as the doctor wiped down his instruments, then set them all back in his bag before walking to the sink and washing his hands again.

“But Mrs. Sloane—”

“I doubt she’ll even wonder where you are,” Dora said. “She hardly ever lets her temper get the best of her.”

“I can’t imagine Mrs. Sloane ever losing her temper.”

Dora laughed. “Only Master Douglass and Miss Veronica can make her truly upset. Or someone who threatens them,” she said with a laugh.

Cook stepped closer. “Ignore Dora, Rosalind. Don’t you worry about Mrs. Sloane. All that matters is that the house continues to run smoothly. We’ll all help you as best as we can.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you.”

“My advice is to go lie down for a while,” Dr. Nolan said. “Your hand will hurt like the devil, but that’s to be expected. Change the dressing once a day. If you start to develop a fever or it begins to
bleed, or if the skin around your stitches seems more tender or red and swollen, have someone fetch me.” With a kind look, he added, “We don’t want anything to happen to you too.”

“No. I mean, of course not. I mean, thank you, Doctor.”

After the doctor took a few sips of his cooling tea, he stood up and Emma led him to Jerome.

When they were sitting alone at the table, Cook stared at Rosalind hard. “If you don’t mind me saying so, I’m thinking that there’s more going on with you besides a hurt hand. Is there anything you’d like to discuss?”

Rosalind met the older woman’s eyes. Noticed how sharp and perceptive she looked. This was a woman who knew more than she let on.

Was there anything more she wanted to discuss? Absolutely.

Could she? Definitely not.

If today’s story about her sister was correct, it was becoming very apparent that not only had some disturbing things happened to Miranda, but also she hadn’t trusted anyone in the household with secrets.