by Jen Turano
He settled back against the seat. “It is not well known, but I was once employed by the duke. I soon realized after accepting employment in the duke’s household that he was a most disagreeable man. He treated his wife at the time in a deplorable fashion and was never satisfied by any of the services his staff performed for him. He was always in the company of intimidating men, who were tasked with the job of spying on the duke’s staff. I decided it was not an atmosphere I was comfortable working in. But because the duke was known to be vindictive if someone left his employ, I was forced to put an entire ocean between us to be certain I would be able to find new employment after I left his service.”
“You had to leave your country behind because you were once employed by the duke?” Beatrix asked.
“Indeed, especially after I was accused of unbecoming behavior by the duke’s men, even though I’d done nothing to warrant those nasty accusations.”
“That’s horrible.”
Mr. Hatfield nodded. “I thought so as well at the time. But then after I became employed by your family, Miss Beatrix, I realized I’d been granted a blessing instead of a punishment by having to move to America. I have more friends in this country than I ever had in England, Mr. Godkin being one of them. He’s well aware of my past, which is why he called on me after you arrived from Newport, Miss Isadora. He was most distraught about what had happened to you with the Duke of Montrose and wanted to get my opinion of the man.” Mr. Hatfield’s lips thinned. “I’m afraid I had nothing good to say about the duke, which made Mr. Godkin realize every effort needed to be made to help you escape from the insanity that always seems to surround the duke.”
Isadora wrapped her blanket a little more snugly around her. “The Duke of Montrose is insane?”
“Or evil. It’s rather difficult to know for certain.” Mr. Hatfield consulted his pocket watch, then lifted his head. “Mr. Godkin and I agreed to disclose to you that we felt the duke might try to force you into marriage with him, but we also agreed that there was no need to frighten you to death by disclosing the duke’s foulest of secrets. With him arriving so unexpectedly in the city, though, and without being in the company of your mother, I’m afraid there’s no choice but to divulge all the nastiness to convince you of the danger you’re in. It will also explain why you’ll have to go through with our original plan, but far sooner than we expected.”
Mr. Hatfield shifted on the seat. “There’s no easy way to disclose this, so I’ll simply be blunt. There’s always been talk that the duke did away with his previous three wives.”
Silence settled over the carriage until Beatrix cleared her throat. “Forgive me if I misunderstood, but it almost sounded to me as if you said there’s a chance the duke might have murdered all of his previous wives.”
“You didn’t misunderstand, Miss Beatrix. Whispers have been traveling through England for years about the duke and his unfortunate wives, but no one has ever been able to prove he purposely did away with them. They were apparently sickly women, incapable of bearing children, but when I was in the duke’s employ, there were tales of poison being bandied about. The authorities never looked into the matter, though, since he is a duke and any suspicions that were brought to their attention were done so by mere members of the serving class.”
Isadora swallowed. “But this isn’t England, it’s America. Surely our authorities would be able to stop the man from his dishonorable intentions toward me if they were told about his past.”
“I’m sure they would, if they could intervene in time.” Mr. Hatfield leaned forward. “What you must understand, Miss Isadora, is this: the Duke of Montrose is a crafty soul, and he’s apparently determined to acquire you. If he places you in a compromising situation, you’ll be ruined unless you marry him. And then, if you displease him once you’re married, well . . . that’s an outcome I’m certain you want to avoid.”
A trace of alarm flickered through Beatrix’s eyes. “But surely we can come up with a better plan than sending Izzie out to seek employment somewhere.”
“There’s no time to devise another plan,” Mr. Hatfield countered. “Besides, even though the plan is outlandish, that’s exactly why it’ll work. No one in their right mind would think to look for Miss Isadora in the wilds of Pennsylvania.”
“She’s going to the wilds of Pennsylvania?” Beatrix asked.
Mr. Hatfield’s eyes grew wide. “I should not have told you that.”
Beatrix fished a soggy handkerchief out of the reticule that was still attached to her wrist and began wiping it over her face. “But you did, so you might as well tell me all of it, and you can start by telling me where we’re going since I know the carriage is not heading for Fifth Avenue.”
“We’re going to Grand Central Depot, but then, after I see Miss Isadora off, I’ll be taking you home.”
“Shouldn’t you take me back to Central Park so I can fetch my buggy?”
“I’ve already sent the groom who accompanied me to Central Park to fetch your buggy. And while I originally did that because I wanted you to drive to Ladies’ Mile, where you would have spent the rest of the afternoon perusing the shops to give you a credible alibi, that plan all but disappeared the moment you landed in the water.”
He released a breath. “I’m not certain how we’re going to explain Miss Isadora’s disappearance now. I also don’t know how we’re going to convince anyone that you, Miss Beatrix, don’t possess information regarding her whereabouts since I’ve just realized everyone chasing after you would have taken note that both of you left the park in the Waterbury carriage.”
Isadora tapped a soggy-gloved finger against her chin. “What if you say that you came to fetch Miss Beatrix home because she had a pressing appointment she’d forgotten about, and you then offered me a ride because I’d gotten drenched in the lake and did not want anyone to see me in such a disheveled state?”
“Everyone knows I’m always forgetting appointments,” Beatrix said, her lips beginning to curve. “And everyone knows that you never appear in public in a disheveled state, so clearly you’d want to be taken directly home. But what about Miss Carr? Your chaperone is certain to know you never arrived back at your house.”
Isadora smiled. “She’s not presently at home. She was most put out when you arrived to fetch me in your two-seated phaeton because there was no room for her. And because she promised my mother she would keep an eagle eye on me, I know for a fact that she’d already sent for a carriage to be readied for her so that she could follow us to Ladies’ Mile, the destination I told her I was visiting today.”
“You told Miss Carr we were off to the Ladies’ Mile?”
“Shocking, I know, since it wasn’t exactly truthful, but ever since I returned from Newport, I’ve been finding myself behaving quite out of character.”
“The duke will know you never arrived home,” Mr. Hatfield pointed out.
“Not if you tell anyone who comes asking that I had the driver let me off at the service entrance because of my sorry state.”
“That could work,” Mr. Hatfield said. “But we really must get down to the instructions I need to give you, Miss Isadora, before we reach the depot.” He picked up a leather satchel that was lying beside him on the seat. “First, know that later on this evening—and by that I mean as late as we can manage—Mrs. Peck, your cook, will stumble upon the letter you wrote to your mother. She’ll then be encouraged by Mr. Godkin to send a telegram to Newport, but by the time your mother can manage to travel back to the city, you should be safely away.”
He nodded to the satchel. “After you procure yourself a train ticket, I suggest you spend your time on the train looking over the numerous advertisements I collected for you from the newspapers I found in Mr. Waterbury’s study.” He glanced to Beatrix. “It’s fortunate your father has business interests throughout the country. He subscribes to papers from many different cities, which aided in my search for positions outside of New York. Pennsylvania papers had many position
s advertised, so that is why we decided that state would be the best place for Isadora to hide.”
“It is an obscure place, to be sure,” Beatrix muttered as Mr. Hatfield caught Isadora’s eye.
“I’ve numbered and circled the positions I feel are most appropriate for you, while also including letters of reference I personally penned. Those letters will hopefully aid you in securing a position.”
Before Isadora could think of anything to ask because her mind seemed to have gone curiously numb, Beatrix let out a snort.
“The major flaw I see with this plan is that there’s little chance Izzie will be able to pass herself off as a servant. She’s never so much as touched a mop or dustcloth in her life.”
Mr. Hatfield inclined his head. “That’s why Mr. Godkin and I decided the position of housekeeper would be more appropriate for Miss Isadora over that of a maid.”
Beatrix opened her mouth, an argument obviously on the tip of her tongue, but then she closed her mouth and frowned. “But what type of reference letter could you have penned for her? She’s never worked a day in her life.”
“True, but Miss Isadora does have a wonderful ability for organization, which was clearly seen at the charitable luncheon she organized a few months back.” He sent Isadora a smile. “And while I may have taken a few liberties with your letter of reference, I was rather vague about your actual employment history. I never stated you’d been employed by the Waterbury family, only that you possess skill with organizing staff and households.”
Isadora ignored the fact that Beatrix’s eyes were now as wide as dinner plates. “I’m certain I will be more than proficient at organizing some obscure country estate. My family does employ numerous housekeepers at our various residences. From what I’ve observed, they seem to be mostly tasked with organizing the staff and keeping the house running smoothly.”
“You’ve never been responsible for organizing a household staff,” Beatrix pointed out.
“True, but I have conferred with our many housekeepers when my mother is unavailable.”
“Conferring with a housekeeper about what flowers should be brought in from the hothouse or what meals should be added to the weekly menu is not the same as organizing an entire staff.” Beatrix nodded to Mr. Hatfield. “And not that I want to point out the obvious, but there is a chance some of these potential employers will check up on that reference letter you’ve penned for Izzie. When that happens, you could very well find yourself unemployed if my parents get wind of what amounts to fraudulent claims on your part.”
Mr. Hatfield shook his head. “It’s highly doubtful your parents will learn about anyone checking up on the references since I specifically left instructions that any questions were to be directed to me.” He held up a hand when Beatrix opened her mouth. “I know the risks, Miss Beatrix, and I’m willing to lose my position if the end result is keeping Miss Isadora from marrying the Duke of Montrose.”
“But Izzie has never been an adventurous sort,” Beatrix argued. “What’s been planned for her seems to me to be an adventure of impressive proportions.”
Mr. Hatfield nodded to Isadora. “Do you believe you’re capable of experiencing this type of adventure?”
Isadora considered the question for a moment before her shoulders sagged ever so slightly. “Beatrix is right. I’m not an adventurous sort. I don’t know if I can successfully obtain employment, let alone stay employed for long if someone offers me a position.”
Leaning across the space that separated them, Mr. Hatfield unexpectedly placed his hand on top of Isadora’s. “My dear, it has been my experience that God occasionally throws obstacles our way so that we’re forced to grow into the people He wants us to be. You are far stronger than you think. I imagine, even with what must seem like insurmountable mountains placed in your path, you’ll soon discover strengths you never knew you had.”
He looked out the window and frowned. “We’re almost to the depot, but if you truly believe this plan is too much for you, I’ll not have the driver stop. We’ll simply have to come up with something else.”
Isadora glanced out the window as well, taking in the sight of carriages rumbling to and from Grand Central Depot. “You truly believe the duke has dastardly intentions toward me?”
“I do.”
“And you also believe that he might have poisoned one or all three of his previous wives?”
“I’m afraid I believe that as well.”
She turned from the window. “Then I really have no choice but to go through with this plan. As everyone knows, society overlooks members of the serving class, so while the plan is more than peculiar, it might very well work.”
Mr. Hatfield nodded. “Very well then, let us return to the advertisements we’ve selected for you to answer. The best of the bunch is on top of the pile and that position is located in . . .” He trailed off and turned to Beatrix. “Perhaps you could cover your ears?”
“Not a chance, but if you’re concerned someone will coerce any information you’re about to disclose out of me, do know that they’ll have to kill me first.”
The very corners of Mr. Hatfield’s lips twitched. “A bit dramatic, even for you, Miss Beatrix.” He nodded to Isadora. “You’ll be going to Canonsburg first, to an estate by the name of Glory Manor. We would have normally sent out an inquiry to ascertain that the position is still available since it was posted in a newspaper from a few weeks ago. However, we don’t have the luxury of sending out queries, so simply travel to Glory Manor and present yourself. Then, if the position is filled, move on to the next advertisement. They’re numbered for you.”
Apprehension shot through Isadora. “Where is Canonsburg?”
“It is a small town outside of Pittsburgh, where no one would think to search for you. When you arrive, you’ll need to ask for directions to Glory Manor, and you’ll also need to hire a wagon or whatever they have available in town to take you there.” Mr. Hatfield fished a black reticule out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Isadora.
“Mr. Godkin and I thought this bag might be more appropriate for a woman interested in securing a housekeeping position because your reticules are a little too . . .”
“Fashionable?” Isadora finished for him.
“Exactly,” Mr. Hatfield returned. “It’s filled with money Mr. Godkin retrieved from wherever it is you stash your spare funds, and there is additional money hidden in the lining of your trunk.”
“I have a trunk?”
“Mr. Godkin took it upon himself to ready a trunk for you after deciding you needed to get out of town posthaste. He told me to tell you he’s fairly certain he remembered to include everything a woman of service needs, raiding the wardrobes your family keeps for the members of your staff. He also wanted me to tell you he begs your pardon if he missed something, since, as a confirmed bachelor, he is not overly familiar with everything a woman needs to prepare herself for the day.”
“I hope Mr. Godkin packed the plainest clothes he could find,” Beatrix said. “Although I’m not certain even plain clothes will be enough to disguise the fact that Izzie’s only twenty-two, far younger than any housekeeper I’ve ever met.”
“I almost forgot,” Mr. Hatfield said in response to that, reaching into a bag beside him and pulling out a pair of the ugliest spectacles Isadora had ever seen. “These have clear glass so they won’t distort your vision, but I suggest you wear them at all times, and make certain your hair is always pulled tightly into a—I think women call them buns—on the back of your head. That will give you an unassuming appearance, although you could always consider powdering your hair to make you appear older, but I imagine there’s little hope Mr. Godkin would have remembered to include powder in your trunk.”
“And there’s always the chance I’d forget to powder my hair some morning, which would draw unwanted questions,” Isadora said.
“True, but speaking of forgetting, you must remember this at all costs—you’re no longer going to be Isadora Delafield,
but Izzie Delmont, or rather Mrs. Delmont.” He held out the spectacles, then smiled as Isadora slid them over her nose. “Much better.” He patted the bag. “Mr. Godkin packed a change of clothing for you, which you’re going to need to change into because, while the walking dress you’re currently wearing is certainly charming, it’s also certain to draw unwanted attention your way. And, well, it is rather wet.”
“Shouldn’t she go by a name that’s not remotely close to her actual name?” Beatrix asked as Isadora took the bag Mr. Hatfield passed to her.
“It’ll be easier for her to cover up a mistake if her alias is similar to her real name,” Mr. Hatfield argued. “Besides, you’re the only one to ever call her Izzie.” He turned back to Isadora. “You will need to send me telegrams, keeping me informed about where you are so we’ll be able to come fetch you the moment the situation with the duke is resolved, or if your father returns early to handle that man.”
Isadora nodded. “I will, and you’ll make certain Mrs. Peck gets that note to my mother?”
“I will,” Mr. Hatfield said as the carriage slowed and pulled into Grand Central Depot. “Before we say good-bye, do you have any other questions?”
“It’s not a question so much as a concern,” Isadora began, lifting her head. “I’m afraid I might have a bit of difficulty changing my clothing because this walking gown buttons up the back, and . . .”
She pretended she didn’t see the telling look Beatrix sent Mr. Hatfield before her friend yanked the curtains shut that covered the windows of the carriage.
“We’ll join you outside, Mr. Hatfield, after I help Isadora change.”
Mr. Hatfield reached for the door. “You will stay in the carriage, Miss Beatrix, and on that, I’ll hear no argument.”
Ten minutes later and dressed in a plain white blouse and gray skirt, with her hair pulled into a severe knot on the back of her head, compliments of Beatrix, Isadora found herself standing in front of a train bound for Pittsburgh.