Assuming a stance of service, I greeted her. “I hope your appointment downtown was satisfactory, ma’am.”
She grinned at me. Not a pleasant, welcoming smile but a malignant smirk. If the corners of her mouth hadn’t turned upward, I might have considered the expression a scowl. “Clara, precisely the person I wanted to see.”
On her heels, I walked into her bedchamber. “May I help ready you for dinner, ma’am?”
She stared at me, her face a strange mix of disgust, triumph, and betrayal. The horrible smile had disappeared. “What a perfect servant you are, Clara. Always anticipating my needs. Always handy with the brush, the needle, the buffer.”
“Yes, ma’am. I try my best,” I answered hesitantly. Somehow her words did not sound like a compliment, not only because her commendations were so rare. Her voice contained an off note.
“Always ready with advice about the proper dress, appropriate behavior, correct language. All based on your vast experience as a European lady’s maid, am I correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Except this is your first position as a lady’s maid, isn’t it, Clara?”
My heart started racing, and my breath became shallow. She knew.
“Do you know where I had an appointment today?”
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
Mrs. Carnegie began pacing around the room. “I met with Mrs. Seeley. You remember her, don’t you? The woman who paid for your ticket here? Arranged for transportation from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh? Placed you in this position?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I had her undertake a little investigation for me. On a hunch based on months of watching you and Andra. Much to her astonishment, she learned that the Clara Kelley she hired for me died on the Atlantic crossing. It seemed that she left behind a fellow named Thomas, nearly a fiancé, who had become keen to make contact with her and with whom she’d exchanged a few letters. At my prodding, Mrs. Seeley got in touch with this Thomas, as Clara had no family of which to speak, and after reviewing the records of the Envoy, the boat Clara boarded from Dublin, Mrs. Seeley pieced together what happened. Somehow, someway, you—whoever you are—took the real Clara Kelley’s place.” Her voice rose, and spittle spewed from her mouth. “When I think of all the trust I placed in you…”
I backed away from her. “I will leave Fairfield right away, ma’am.”
She advanced toward me. “You will do more than leave Fairfield—and this city—immediately. You will foreswear contact with my son forever. It was the hint of a relationship brewing between you two that prompted my inquiries. I would have never let my precious Andra marry a lady’s maid, but I would die before allowing him to consort with a liar and an impostor.”
Stepping away from me, she inhaled deeply, patted down her hair, and said, “If you try to make contact with Andra in any way, I will inform him that you are a pretender and a fraud of the worst sort. One who usurped a dead girl’s identity for her own gain. If you leave now and never speak to him again, I will allow him to believe that the lovers’ spat I interrupted yesterday drove you away.”
Drawing toward me again, she poked one buffed fingernail deep into my chest. “Don’t you dare think I’m offering you this option out of mercy for you. I am doing it for my son. That way, he can move toward his destiny without suffering the humiliation of your deception.”
What choice had Mrs. Carnegie left me? What choice had I left myself? If Andrew found out who I was, if he discovered that I’d been lying to him for years, wouldn’t he leave me himself? Not to mention, if he learned of my deceit, would he exact revenge upon me and, through me, my family? Would he somehow interfere at the bank so I could not withdraw money from the account that my family so desperately needed? I had witnessed a dark side of Andrew emerge, and I could not take that risk to my family. Even if some minuscule chance existed that Andrew might forgive my lies and marry me regardless, I could never gamble away my family’s welfare. Andrew could never discover who I really was, and disappearing forever was the only way.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Carnegie,” I said softly, closing the door—and my future with Andrew—behind me.
Sobbing quietly as I walked up the staircase to the servants’ floor, I tried to console myself. If Andrew still believed that I was the Anglo-Irish tradesman’s daughter Clara Kelley—the woman who had inspired him in business and affection and who challenged him to carve a different, better path than the one driven solely by avarice—the chance existed that my influence might remain. Even though I would be gone.
Chapter Forty-Seven
April 11, 1867
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Packing my small traveling bag took mere minutes. Changing into the black secondhand gown that I’d purchased from Mrs. Seeley over two years ago as I wiped away the tears streaming down my face, I left behind my servant’s uniforms and the cerulean-blue gown that I’d worn to the Academy of Music. I had no need of them where I was going. I had traveled lightly into this world of the false Clara Kelley, and I would travel lightly as I left it behind.
Only my copy of Aurora Leigh and my envelopes from Andrew with the stock certificates and bank account information would journey along with me. Symbols of a love forgone and a new future for my family embraced.
Treading quietly down the servants’ hall, I crept down the back staircase to the kitchen. I had no wish to call attention to my departure and planned on passing through the kitchen to the servants’ door as inconspicuously as possible. But Mr. Ford was not going to let that happen.
Spotting me as I landed on the final step, he pulled me into the larder and closed the door behind us in a clear attempt to avoid the prying eyes of Hilda and Anne, who were working in the scullery. “Where do you think you’re going with that traveling bag, Miss Kelley?” he whispered.
“You were right, Mr. Ford. It always ends badly for the servants.”
Folding my hands into his, he sighed. “The masters are all cut from the same cloth, slaver or not.”
“Mr. Carnegie is not to blame. In fact, I am in his debt. I brought this situation upon myself by pretending to be someone I am not.”
“If that was a crime, we’d all be in jail, Miss Kelley. We are all pretending in this life. One way or another.”
A loud thud sounded throughout the kitchen. Assuming it was Hilda or Anne dropping a platter or bowl upon the floor, we grew even quieter. I willed my breath to still.
“Is she in the kitchen, Mother?” a male voice yelled.
It was not Hilda or Anne making all the noise in the kitchen. It was Andrew.
The recognizable footfall of Mrs. Carnegie clattered on the pine floorboards. She was following Andrew into the kitchen. “I told you she was gone, Andra. You can look in the kitchen, in the servants’ quarters, in the library, in any nook or cranny of this house, and you will not find her. She gave her notice, and she left.” My mistress was trying to sound matter-of-fact, but she could not keep the self-satisfied tone out of her voice.
“Clara wouldn’t just leave, Mother.”
“Maybe you don’t know Clara as well as you think you do,” she taunted him.
Was she going to reveal my secret? Please no, I prayed, not before I got the money out of the account. My heart started beating louder, and I began to feel nauseated. I mouthed a silent Hail Mary that Mrs. Carnegie would keep her word that if I left without notifying Andrew, she would not tell him the truth about me.
“It’s you who doesn’t know Clara. She wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. In fact, she wouldn’t leave at all.” He took three deliberate-sounding steps. I imagined he was drawing closer to his mother. “What did you do to her?”
“Why would I bother to do anything to her, Andra? She’s just a lady’s maid. One I can easily replace. As can you.” Ever crafty, Mrs. Carnegie was offering Andrew a path out of
his tirade by reminding him of my status. It was an honorable way to walk away from me. “Anyway, why do you care so much?”
“Clara means a great deal to me, Mother, whether you like it or not. We had plans, she and I.” Hearing Andrew say those words, hearing him defy his mother for me, I was tempted to step out of the larder and reveal myself to him. But what would become of those feelings when his mother divulged my true identity? What retribution might he exact? The tiny chance that he might still love me when faced with the truth was not worth the damage he might inflict on my family. I had to leave him.
Andrew took one step more, and his voice grew even louder. “I will look in every corner of this house, interview every servant, locate her family, even visit rail stations and carriage stops to track her down. Make no mistake, Mother. I will find her.”
The sound of their footsteps leaving the kitchen echoed in the larder where Mr. Ford and I were hiding. I started crying, and he hugged me tightly. Sinking into the warm folds of his generous build, I was consoled for a moment. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Mr. Ford. My only one in this house,” I whispered, choking back more tears.
“You’ve been a good friend to me too, Miss Kelley. The only one who ever covered for me with a master or mistress. And the only one who ever helped me with my family,” he whispered back.
“I wish you all the luck in the world finding them. General Howard is still searching.”
I spotted Mrs. Stewart’s inventory of the larder hanging on the wall, with a slate pencil on the shelf nearby. Hurriedly, I tore off a corner of the inventory and scribbled down the Lambs’ address. Handing it to Mr. Ford, I said, “This is for you alone. Please let me know when you find your family.”
“Thank you. But you better get going, unless you want to be found.”
I slipped out of Mr. Ford’s embrace, and he stepped out of the larder to make sure no one was in the hallway. I heard the rising chatter of Hilda and Anne, who’d grown silent during the confrontation between Andrew and his mother, and prayed they’d stay put for at least another minute so I could sneak out the servants’ door.
Mr. Ford stuck his head back into the larder. “Come on,” he said, guiding me to leave.
With a final squeeze of his hand, I stepped through the servants’ door out into the night. The moon swelled in the sky, lighting my way to Reynolds Street. Clear and crisp, the air felt refreshing. My lungs expanded, and I breathed more deeply than I had in some time.
I had played at so many roles in the years since landing in America, I had lost myself. Sacrificed myself to one set of ideals and then another—American and Irish, commercial and altruistic, Fenian and Chartist and Democratic, Andrew’s and my own, new and old—until I no longer knew my own mind. No more.
I stepped out into the night, onto my own fresh path.
Epilogue
October 14, 1900
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
I unfolded the letter, spreading it out over the walnut surface of the study desk. The paper on which it was written, over thirty years old now, was nearly translucent with wear. I’d read and reread the words until I had them memorized, but still I carried the letter with me every day since I received it. It had become almost like a talisman for me, a reminder of the righteousness of the path I chose. Before I stepped through the doors of his building today, I needed to read it one last time.
The script on the first sheaf was written by a man I did not know, at the behest of a man I once knew very well. It was dated January 1869.
Dear Clara,
I don’t know what became of you when you walked out that door in 1867, but I hope this letter reaches you somehow and finds you well. I know how you struggled with your choice that April day, and I wanted you to know it wasn’t for nothing. You did the right thing. You’ll see that when you read this paper I found crumpled up in the master’s study.
Every time I look into the eyes of my Ruth and my Mabel, I see your eyes. I have you to thank for getting me back my family.
John Ford
Sliding Mr. Ford’s letter to the right, I stared down at the undated, second sheaf of paper. It contained handwriting very familiar to me, not only because I’d studied the words. I knew the script intimately before the letter was ever written. It belonged to Andrew.
Dearest Clara,
You found me just before I was beyond all hope of recovery. Your morals, your convictions, and your honesty brought me back from the brink, away from the idolatry of money and self. You reminded me of who I really am, who I was meant to be, and who I can help. For that, I will be forever grateful.
I do not know why you left me. Knowing the goodness of your heart, I can only assume you had reasons of the utmost importance. You have left me utterly heartbroken and inexorably changed. And although I forgive you, I will never forget you.
I have searched for you for well over a year. I have hired detectives and bounty hunters and I have employed my own security men as well. They have looked in Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, New York, Boston, and pretty much everywhere in between. Even the staunchest of private detectives found not a trace of you after you left the bank in Pittsburgh. It was as if you never existed. But you did exist, Clara. You stamped your mark upon me, and I will stamp your mark upon the world to prove your existence and remind myself to stay your course. As you would have desired, any fortune I amass will be dedicated for the betterment of mankind, particularly the education and improvement of the poorer and immigrant classes by the establishment of free libraries. I only wish—
I always wondered how he planned on ending the letter. As I was smoothing the letter out over the desk surface—it was still crumpled after all these years—a little girl wandered into the study.
“Are you ready yet, Great-Auntie?” Maeve called me Great-Auntie due to my age, even though I was technically a cousin of sorts. She was the little granddaughter of my beloved cousins Patrick and Maeve, for whom she was named.
Was I ready to see what I had wrought? I nodded, and together, we donned our coats and stepped out of the Lambs’ home.
One harrowing carriage ride later, over the uneven cobblestones of Forbes Avenue, Maeve and I stepped out to examine Andrew’s building. She gripped my hand as we climbed the steep steps to the three arched bronze doors guarding the entrance. Occasionally, we would stop, giggle, and catch our breath. The stairs were a challenging climb for us both, although we were equally determined to reach the top.
I wondered what patrons of the building would make of us if they happened to glance out the window. Would they wonder at the relationship between the auburn-haired girl and the petite woman with gray hair streaked red who held the girl’s hand? Would they simply assume I was her grandmother, or would they guess at our more complicated stories?
On the first landing, Maeve looked up at the letters carved into the granite facade above the doors. “What does that say, Great-Auntie?”
“Free to the People,” I answered with the lilt I hadn’t managed to shake in the thirty years I’d lived in America. I lived among too many fellow Irish folk in Boston, the city where I’d settled after fleeing Pittsburgh, to do anything but reinforce my accent, particularly since the patients I served in my nursing practice were invariably Irish. Not to mention I’d been successful in shipping my family to Boston with some of the funds Andrew gave me, so I was greeted with their Galway lilt most days.
“What does that mean?” Maeve asked.
“It means that this marvelous library with all its books and treasures inside is free for all people to use. It is a wondrous gift that allows all people to become educated, even when they cannot afford school.”
“Like you, Great-Auntie Clara? You’re a nurse, and you need a special school for that.” The proud way she said nurse made me smile. Perhaps one day, I’d inspire Maeve to pursue a career. It almost made worthwhile the sacrifice I’d made to for
ge my independent path—a family of my own. Women, who only recently could climb above their born stations, could not have both. In the end, I do not think I would have wanted marriage or a family with anyone but Andrew. I guessed he felt much the same way, as it had taken him twenty years after I left to finally marry.
Continuing our ascent after stopping for another breath, we scaled the next set of stairs to the second and final landing. I reached for one of the bronze doors, but before I pulled it open, Maeve said, “There are more letters, Great-Auntie.” She pointed to a granite expanse above the columns that sat atop the doors. “What does that say?”
“It says Carnegie Library.”
“What’s a Carnegie?”
I laughed. Andrew had grown so famous in the years since I left him, it was hard to imagine that even one as young as Maeve would not know him. “A Carnegie is a ‘who,’ not a ‘what.’ In this case, Carnegie refers to Andrew Carnegie, who is the man who built this free library and thousands more libraries with his own money. A man who gave the gift of books and education to every person, regardless of how much money they had.” A small, private smile crossed my lips as I thought on the role I played in planting the seed for these libraries—for his vast charitable works, actually—in Andrew’s mind.
“Did he give the people any other gifts?”
From the way Maeve’s eyes sparkled, I knew she was imagining the sorts of gifts she received at Christmas, china dolls and sugary confections. “Oh yes, Maeve. Not only has Mr. Carnegie established hundreds of libraries around the world, maybe thousands one day, but he has also created educational institutions, museums, and performance halls, and there’s talk that he will be forming institutes for peace, teaching, and the recognition of heroes.”
Maeve’s eyes widened, and she said, “He must have a lot of money.”
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