A Lady of Secret Devotion

by Tracie Peterson

  Portland seemed completely unimpressed with his experience. He danced nervously as the young black man fought to keep him under control. Mark was glad to see they had already saddled him and took the reins from the nervous teen.

  “Here’s something for your trouble,” he said, tossing the boy a coin. Mark quickly turned his attention back to the horse and reached into his pocket for a couple of sugar lumps. “And here’s something for your trouble, Portland. I know that was not to your liking and I do apologize.”

  The horse nuzzled his hand for the sweets and then bobbed his head up and down as if agreeing with Mark’s comment. Mark laughed and walked his mount from the station. He felt confident that if he allowed Portland to get away from the noise and rush of the trains, he would soon calm and be willing to let Mark ride.

  They strolled only a short distance before Mark saw the situation was going to be quite impossible. Like Boston, Philadelphia was a bustling town, and quiet and calm seemed far away.

  Mark climbed onto Portland’s back with only minor protest from the gelding. The horse sidestepped several times before allowing Mark to guide him forward. “There you go, boy. See? It’s not so unnerving as you thought,” Mark said, patting the steed’s neck.

  They joined the traffic of wagons and carriages as Mark moved deeper into the heart of town. The day had grown humid, and given the heavy look of the clouds, Mark guessed they were soon to experience a rain.

  He pressed on, knowing the address and basic directions for getting to the boardinghouse where he would stay. He’d arranged for his trunk to be delivered later that day. The proprietor, Mr. Westmoreland, was expecting him. Westmoreland, a former police officer who’d been injured in the line of duty, was said to be a valuable aid to those who needed private investigation. Mark hoped he might prove to be useful.

  A few sprinkles of rain were just starting to fall when Mark found the house. It was small, only two stories, but it looked sufficient. Not far from the house, on Front Street, were businesses and plenty of activity. One such place was a livery. Perhaps he would be able to board Portland there while he conducted business in Philadelphia.

  He dismounted, tied the gelding to the small hitching post, and gave another glance at the house. This was to become his home—for how long, he had no idea. Mark drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

  CHAPTER 4

  Life at the Jameston house seemed idyllic to Cassie. They had fallen into a companionable schedule as easily as if they had known each other all of their days. Mrs. Jameston found Cassie’s sense of humor and manner of speaking her mind to be refreshing, and Cassie appreciated the older woman’s candor in return. The servants were personable and seemed to enjoy the fact that Cassie had come to keep their mistress company.

  Silas, a white-haired man of sixty, ran the Jameston kitchen in perfect order. He had spent a lifetime working in some capacity for the Jamestons. His mother and father had gone to work for Mr. Jameston’s family when Silas had barely reached the age of ten. He learned early on how to work in the kitchen and loved cooking so much that Mr. Jameston’s mother arranged for him to go to Paris and take formal training.

  Essie, the only servant of color, often helped in the kitchen. She preferred working with the meals, but also did laundry and ironing. She was as loyal to Mrs. Jameston as any person could ever be. Having been a slave in Virginia until the age of thirteen, Essie was rescued from her miserable fate when Mrs. Jameston spied her being whipped. As the story went, Mrs. Jameston was visiting friends when Essie was punished for having broken a vase. Horrified at this treatment, Louise Jameston immediately offered her friends twice what the girl would have sold for on the block and whisked her away to Philadelphia, a city quite sympathetic to seeing slaves set free. Once safely in the Jameston house, Essie was given her papers and offered a proper job in the household.

  Wills and Miriam were a husband and wife who, although young, were very hard-working. Wills cared for the grounds and horses, while Miriam helped Mrs. Dixon keep the house and helped her husband on occasion with the garden. Then, of course, there was Ada, who acted as personal maid to Mrs. Jameston, and now Cassie.

  Brumley was the butler and household manager of funds, and Mrs. Dixon ran everything else. She and Brumley together handled all matters regarding the other servants, but in truth, Cassie thought they all seemed more like family than employees. They loved Mrs. Jameston and would have done anything for her, though they despised her son.

  All except Silas. The aged cook seemed to tolerate him with a gruff affection Cassie learned had been born over the years. Apparently, Silas had married a lovely French girl while abroad. She returned with him and went to work in the Jamestons’ household, taking over the position of nanny when Sebastian had come along. Jeannette had been unable to have children, and she and Silas doted on Sebastian, even nicknaming him Sebbie. During Mrs. Jameston’s darkest days of sorrow over the death of her older sons, Silas and Jeannette had shown Sebastian the attention and love that he lacked.

  “When Jeannette died,” Mrs. Jameston had told Cassie, “Sebastian was devastated. She was as much a mother to him then as I—maybe more, for I was often lost in my grief, while she spent every waking moment with him.”

  Cassie thought it very sad. She tried to imagine Mrs. Jameston’s son as a little boy. An oil painting of him hung upon the wall in the formal sitting room, and Cassie thought him a very distinguished-looking young man. His eyes were of the palest ice blue, however, and seemed void of feeling. Given the other things Cassie had heard in passing about the man, she thought him a definite enigma. It wasn’t long before Cassie was given the opportunity to form her own opinions.

  Sebastian Jameston appeared in the foyer of his mother’s house one Friday in April. He hadn’t bothered to knock and was supported on one side by a tawny-haired man and by a crutch on the other.

  Cassie stared at him from the doorway of the sitting room. He was glassy-eyed and flushed, swaying as if drunk or perhaps sick.

  “Where’s my mother?” he asked as Brumley took their hats.

  “I believe Mrs. Jameston is lying down,” the butler replied.

  “Then wake her and tell her that I’m here,” he said.

  “That can wait,” his companion interjected. “Mr. Jameston is injured and needs to go to bed. We’ll need hot water and clean bandages.”

  Cassie continued to watch as the man pushed past Mr. Brumley, taking Sebastian with him. She worried about Mrs. Jameston and the shock of having her son come home in such a state. Slipping up the back stairs, Cassie made her way to her own bedroom and knocked lightly on the door that adjoined Mrs. Jameston’s room before entering.

  Mrs. Jameston was already awake. She smiled at Cassie and beckoned her in. “Come, child. Come and read to me.”

  “I would love to, but I’m afraid you will be much occupied in a few moments. Your son has returned, and he’s in a sorry state.”

  Mrs. Jameston’s face lost its joyful expression. “What kind of sorry state?”

  “Well, there is another man with him, and he says that your son has been injured. He called for hot water and bandages. From the looks of it, I believe Mr. Jameston might well be feverish.”

  Mrs. Jameston got to her feet with a sigh. “Help me change from this dressing gown.” She undid the hooks and shrugged out of the gown.

  Cassie assisted Mrs. Jameston, tightening the woman’s corset before depositing the dress over her head.

  “That boy always manages to get himself in one kind of mess or another. He has been strong-willed since the day he was born. It could have served him well—had it been tempered. Instead, I can’t even tell you the sorrow he has caused me.”

  It felt strange to hear a mother speak thusly of her child. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Cassie remarked as she did up the back buttons. Just then Ada appeared. The worried expression on her face said it all.

  “Mrs. Jameston, Sebastian is home, and he’s asking for you. Well, in trut
h, he’s demanding you come to him.” Her tone made her disgust quite clear.

  “Cassie mentioned his return. I was just having her assist me in dressing. Tell him I will be right there.”

  Ada nodded and hurried from the room. Cassie turned to Mrs. Jameston and offered a weak smile. “Even Ada despises him, I see.” She grimaced as the words left her mouth. “Sorry. I suppose that was a bit bold.”

  Mrs. Jameston shook her head. “Sebastian has done much to alienate most of the staff. They all share their own histories with him—all but you.” With that, she opened her bedroom door and disappeared into the hallway. Cassie followed quickly.

  At the opposite end of the second floor, Sebastian Jameston had already taken residence in a decidedly masculine room. Cassie stepped inside the bedroom after Mrs. Jameston and marveled at the bustle of people already in place.

  “Mother, I have need of you,” Sebastian called from the four-poster bed.

  Mrs. Jameston took in the scene and moved slowly toward him. “They told me you were injured. What seems to be the problem?” Cassie heard guarded concern in the woman’s voice. She had only seen Mrs. Jameston as the warmest and kindest of people, yet here, with her own son, she seemed almost afraid of what might be revealed.

  “It’s really nothing. I had some overexuberant entertainment and was accidentally shot in the leg. It became infected.”

  “Shot? Brumley, send for the doctor.”

  “No,” Sebastian said sternly. “Robbie is good at the healing arts. He’ll take care of me. I just needed a dry, clean place where we could have access to all the supplies we’d need. It’s actually much better.” He motioned to the stranger. “This is Robert McLaughlin. He’ll stay with me while I recover. I’ve already told Mrs. Dixon to have the adjoining room made up for him.”

  Cassie remained back by the door. She could see that Mrs. Jameston was far from pleased with the situation.

  “When did this happen? How bad is it?” his mother asked. Cassie recognized the motherly alarm in her voice and felt pity for the older woman. How torn she must feel, Cassie thought. She loves him . . . but fears him at the same time. Fears the pain he might cause her, as well as the pain she might experience in losing him completely.

  “It’s been a couple of weeks and it was very bad,” Sebastian said as he sank back against the pillows. “Robbie has kept me just this side of becoming a one-legged beggar.”

  Robbie glanced up. His dark eyes met Mrs. Jameston’s, then quickly turned back to the work at hand. “He’s not a good patient at times, but the best thing he can do for himself is rest.”

  Cassie thought the man’s voice held a hint of a Scottish accent, but it was evident he’d worked to disguise that. He was a nice enough looking man. In fact, both of them were, but there was something sinister about them that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “Well, he can certainly have plenty of that here,” Mrs. Jameston said. “If your man has this under control, I shall dismiss the servants. There is no need for them to remain here.” She looked at her son as if considering what more she could do and added, “If you change your mind about the doctor, please let me know.”

  “I can handle this on my own, ma’am,” Robbie said without looking up.

  Brumley, Ada, and Mrs. Dixon left the room quickly, and Cassie couldn’t be certain, but it almost seemed they gave a collective sigh as they moved down the corridor.

  “Who is this beauty?” Sebastian asked his mother.

  Cassie realized Sebastian was speaking about her, and she felt her face grow hot under his leering gaze. His eyes were glassy and his expression pained, but it didn’t stop him from fixing her with a most disturbing stare. He seemed to have no shame in ogling her as though she were a commodity for sale.

  “This is Cassandra Stover. She is my companion, and as such, I expect you to treat her with the utmost respect. She is not a servant but rather a friend.”

  “I’d like to be her friend,” Sebastian said with a wicked grin. “I’d like to be her very good friend.”

  “Sebastian, you are completely out of line. You have scared half of the young women in my employ. I won’t have you offending Cassie.”

  He winked at Cassie and patted the side of the bed. “I promise not to scare you, and I’m not at all interested in offending you. Quite the contrary. Come sit by me and tell me about yourself.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Jameston replied before Cassie could speak. “She’s my companion, not yours. Come, Cassie.”

  Cassie followed Mrs. Jameston back to her room. It was clear that Sebastian’s appearance had upset the older woman.

  “I want you to be careful,” Mrs. Jameston told her. “My son is quite devious and corrupt. He will stop at nothing to pester you and impose himself upon you. He’s scared poor Essie practically to the point of quitting me. I always try to see her tucked away somewhere else when he’s around.”

  “He doesn’t worry me,” Cassie said boldly. But in truth, she did feel rather uncomfortable.

  “My dear, I don’t want you worried; I just want you cautious. Sebastian cares for no one but himself. He’s actually taken . . . liberties with women in the past. I would not want to see you harmed in such a way.”

  Cassie nodded. “I promise I’ll give him a wide berth.”

  Mrs. Jameston squeezed her hand. “I just don’t know what to do for him anymore. He’s resentful of anything I try. Hopefully he won’t be with us for long. I’ll encourage him to leave as soon as his leg is on the mend. In fact, I’ll pay for him to go elsewhere if need be. I simply cannot have him upsetting my household once again. Even if he is my son.”

  Cassie patted her arm. “I hate to see you this way, Mrs. Jameston. It’s not good for your constitution.”

  Mrs. Jameston met her gaze. Her brows knit together and wrinkles lined her forehead. “I feel terrible. Sebastian is my own flesh and blood, but there is no joy in having him here. He has proven himself to be untrustworthy on so many occasions, I have, in fact, actually come to fear him.”

  “Well, you needn’t worry now. I’m here. I’ll see that you are safe.”

  Mrs.Jameston shook her head. “You don’t understand. Sometimes I fear that boy is in league with the devil himself.”

  From the moment they met, Mark found he very much liked August Westmoreland. The man was rather stocky in build, with curly red hair that belied his fifty-some years of life, despite the occasional marks of gray. He welcomed Mark from the start with an enthusiasm that immediately put the younger man at ease.

  “You must call me August. Everyone does.”

  “They do indeed,” the man’s widowed sister said. “I’m Nancy Wenger.”

  “Mrs. Wenger.” Mark gave a brief bow. “I’m pleased to meet you both.”

  “You came highly recommended,” August declared, eyeing Mark as if sizing him up for some future reference.

  “As did you,” Mark countered, meeting August’s gaze. The two men nodded, seeming to understand the underlying truth of why Mark had come.

  Since then, Mark had found the room and boardinghouse to be comfortable and consistent with his needs. Not only did August and Nancy keep a tidy house, they put on a generous meal. August also offered a place for Portland to board with his own horses at a very minimal fee.

  “So are you heading out today?” Westmoreland asked as Mark came down the rather steep stairs, hat in hand.

  “I am. I thought to ride around the town a bit and familiarize myself with the streets. I appreciate the map you drew for me.”

  “No problem at all. Should you want to go riding with me sometime, I’m sure I can get Nancy to watch over the house.”

  “Maybe another time. Thank you,” Mark said, moving to the door. He had in mind to ride past the Jameston house once again and wasn’t yet compelled to share his mission with the older man. He popped the hat atop his head and smiled. “I shouldn’t be long.”

  He found Portland and a pair of matched ebony geldings i
n the small corral in back. There was a lean-to type shed to offer shelter from the rain, but otherwise the arrangements were meager. Still, Mark thought the animal would prefer it here in the open to the shared quarters of the livery.

  “Well, boy, are you ready for a little journey?” He quickly saddled the animal, all the while talking. “We have a little business to take care of.” Portland gave a soft whinny as if in acknowledgment of the work ahead of them. Mark led him from the corral and mounted, giving the horse a quick pat against the neck.

  The skies were clear and blue as Mark made his way up Spruce Street. The air smelled of spring with the undeniable scent of flowers and budding trees. Philadelphia is indeed a beautiful city, he thought. Not only that, but the history of the town fascinated him—just as Boston’s did. He tried to imagine the city as Benjamin Franklin might have known it. He wondered if the old gentleman loved the city as much as he loved the idea of freedom for the country. Did he take long rides in the afternoon and soak up the sights and sounds around him? Did he have any idea of what his work would bring about in the not-so-distant future?

  Heading north, Mark watched the neighborhood change. The docks and bustle of Front Street gave way to neighborhoods of redbrick row houses and cobblestone streets. At one time, this had been where the wealthy had enjoyed stately homes, but as the years passed, the rich took themselves north and west. That was where Mark would find the Jameston house.

  He’d ridden by the Jameston property on two other occasions but tried to keep from looking obvious. He knew he would find a subtle opulence that only the very wealthy could afford. Often it seemed people of less capital overindulged to impress, whereas the truly rich had no need.

  Mark thought again of Richard and wondered if he’d taken this same route to catch a glimpse of the Jameston house. It was hard to think of Richard gone. They had been close friends for so long. Richard had helped Mark to go on living after the death of his beloved Ruth. When Mark had wanted to turn to drink, Richard had helped him, instead, turn to God. Now God seemed strangely absent. Richard was gone, and in so many ways he’d taken God with him.