by Cathy Gohlke
Grayson served coffee and a light sponge cake smothered in sherry. Maureen marveled that Katie Rose had taken to this grand life so quickly and was so apparently at ease in the fine house.
At length Olivia stood, Katie Rose and Maureen following suit. The late January wind rushed past the windows and whipped round the corners of the sturdy chimneys as the ladies entered the drawing room, where a fire crackled, burning brightly. Despite Katie Rose’s attempts to exclude her from conversation with Olivia, Maureen smiled and feigned relaxation as best she could. Finally Olivia chose a book from the shelves, extending an offer to Maureen to do the same. Katie Rose threaded a needle and took up her embroidery.
Maureen stole a discreet glance at Curtis’s note behind the pages of her novel before slipping it back into her pocket. After its first line, nothing in the novel mattered.
Report to my home on Monday for training. Tell no one.
That alone was another exercise in faith—or foolishness. She wasn’t sure which. But she’d stepped into the boat, and there was nowhere to get out now but the deepening sea. Maureen sighed. I hope you’re all you seem to be, Curtis Morrow.
When her eyes grew heavy, she closed them and leaned back in the chair, letting the warmth of the fire infuse her bones, doing her best to decipher the remainder of Curtis’s message, to guess at his meaning. The flames of the fire fell, burning low, its occasional hiss overshadowed by the intermittent turning of pages. The long hand of the clock swept its face twice.
The fire was little more than embers when Katie Rose, who had yawned herself nearly to sleep, at last excused herself from the company.
Despite her sister’s persistent frost, Maureen had enjoyed the evening in the silent company of women. When Olivia made no move to go, Maureen remained opposite the fire, savoring the room’s lingering warmth and the security of the deeply cushioned chair. She stared into the smoldering embers, waiting for the last to drop beneath the grate, all the while summoning her courage, knowing she must reach out to the woman who’d taken her in.
When at last Olivia closed her book, Maureen cleared her throat. “I thank you for takin’ me in,” she began. “I know Curtis—Mr. Morrow—asked you to do it, but you weren’t obliged. And I’m grateful. I’d nowhere else to go.”
“He needn’t have asked. I’ve wanted you to come a long while. It’s also what our fathers wanted—what they both intended.” Olivia laid aside her book. “You could have asked or simply come.”
Maureen raised her brows at the mild rebuke but remembered that Olivia knew nothing of Curtis’s “project.” For that was what she’d decided to call his proposed venture. She didn’t know exactly what he’d planned, and what little she understood was frightening. What does he mean in his note, that we will “sting the viper in his own nest”? All she could think of was the sharp and sudden sting of a bee. But what if the viper anticipates the bee? What if . . . ?
“What do you want, Maureen?” Olivia’s question held no malice, no judgment, but it brought Maureen sharply back to the moment and to the mental vision she’d conjured earlier that evening.
“I want what you have,” Maureen answered simply, just as directly. “Not,” she hastened to add, “your wealth or home. Not your inheritance.”
“I never assumed that, though I think we should talk about that soon—about all my father intended for you and Katie Rose, what my father hoped for us as sisters.”
Maureen momentarily closed her eyes. The pain of thinking of her father, her mother’s cruel betrayal of so good a man, was still too near.
“But if that’s not what you mean—what, then?”
“The peace you radiate. The inward calm that carries you.” Maureen breathed, considering. “Whatever it is that makes you walk peaceably where others are afraid to walk. Yes, I want that—for myself and for Katie Rose.”
“Why do you want it?”
Maureen felt mildly taken aback at such a question. “Because it matters. If I possessed such calm, I would—” She hesitated, closed her eyes again to concentrate, to summon the vision and form the words she intended. “I would not be alone. I would never be alone again.”
“My peace, my companionship,” Olivia said softly, “come from my surety that the Lord loves me. Surety that because I’ve asked, believing He’s redeemed me, He’s also forgiven me and accepts me—now, as I am. He lives inside me, walks beside me, in the form of His Holy Spirit. He holds my heart, my life. He is my heart, my life.”
As Olivia spoke, Maureen felt a tiny flicker of hope rise within her chest. But the slumbering darkness rumbled. The shaming voice of her past and her recent failure to save Alice and Eliza taunted her heart, her brain, whispering that she could never claim such forgiveness, such acceptance, such friendship. Maureen clamped tight her heart lest the darkness overwhelm her. The last ember fell into the grate.
“I’m glad for you,” she answered at last. “’Tis a beautiful thing.” Maureen meant it, though she had no hope it could be hers. She rose and laid her unread book on the table. “Good night, Olivia.”
“Maureen.” Olivia stood and grasped her hand, contorting her head until Maureen was forced to return her gaze. “You can have it too. The same Holy Spirit, the same forgiveness, the same love.”
Maureen pulled back, fighting the rising tide of darkness, the swell of futility. You mean well, but you can’t know; you don’t understand. “Good night, Olivia.” Five steps brought her to the door.
“It isn’t because of who I am, Maureen. It’s because of who He is and what He’s done—what He longs to do in you!” Olivia’s voice carried into the hallway, but Maureen closed the drawing room door, cutting her off, and walked quickly toward the stairs. She stopped on the second-floor landing, heart thrumming as she gripped the banister.
If forgiveness is because of who You are, Lord, and what You’ve done—if You are willing to give it to those who cry out to You—then watch what I do. Perhaps if I’m successful in helpin’ Curtis and Joshua, if we save others more worth savin’, then You’ll hear me—even me. Perhaps then I’ll have a right to ask You too.
“Mornin’ coat, afternoon coat, evenin’ dress, cuff links for this, and cuff links for that! Brush this and polish that—I’ll never remember this la-di-da!” Joshua slapped the pair of gentleman’s riding gloves across his thigh.
“You will if you pay heed, Mr. Keeton. It takes a bit of practice and a great deal of patience,” Evans, Curtis Morrow’s manservant, responded to his unruly pupil. “The practice you may achieve by repetition, but patience is a matter of character gained by choice.”
Joshua caught Maureen’s smile behind her hand. “It’s all well and good for you, Maureen O’Reilly. You’ve had years of chamber and lady’s maid trainin’ at Lady Catherine’s knee! This is worse than Greek and Latin to me!”
“Well,” Maureen taunted coyly, “I can’t imagine what you’re complainin’ about. You’ve had all of an hour to learn the ways of a gentleman’s gentleman. But if it’s really too much, then I suppose I could ask Mr. Morrow to find himself another to play the role of manservant, and me another protector for his scheme.”
Nothing could have given Joshua greater pause. He squared his shoulders and raised his eyes. Then he breathed deeply, gave Evans a curt, apologetic bow, and humbly asked, “Would you kindly repeat the process, Mr. Evans?”
“Evans will do for me, as Keeton will for you.” The older man smiled, and Joshua was certain he winked at Maureen. “Now, let us begin once more with the morning coat.”
Throughout the next week Maureen and Joshua absorbed the instructions Curtis had detailed in his letter before leaving town. Over and over, hour after hour, in the sanctuary of Curtis’s home, they trained and rehearsed until they knew backward and forward their responses to any summons or question concerning their roles. Never had anything so taxed or intrigued Maureen’s imagination, and never had her brain felt so agile, so alive.
She was fitted with the tailored uniform of
a wealthy American employer’s private chambermaid and all the shoes and cloaks and trappings, as well as all the history such a woman might possess, just as Joshua was properly outfitted for his role. Her hair was combed and twisted and clucked over by Madame Sevier, a stout Frenchwoman of few words and many mumbles from a local theater company—and a woman whom Curtis evidently trusted. After making several notes, she slipped away, leaving Maureen less easy in spirit.
“You don’t think he’s plannin’ to have that woman cut your hair, do you?” Joshua asked.
“I don’t know,” Maureen admitted. “I’ve no idea what he’s thinkin’.”
“’Twould be a shame, that.” He reached a finger to catch a wayward tendril. When their eyes met, he dropped it and pulled back. “But whatever makes you safest, that’s what’s needed.”
By the end of the week, she was confident in her duties, and Joshua, a quicker study than she’d realized, became fairly adept in his role as gentleman’s gentleman. He mastered the details of valet with ease, along with the peculiarities of table settings, table service, and the expected seating for everything from intimate dinners to banquets. He could pass as a well-established butler. Only the vast array of cigars, wines, liqueurs, and brandies he might be expected to offer guests confounded him.
But Maureen knew, from her intense discussions with Joshua over pots of tea gone cold, and her own intuition, that each lesson must be so thoroughly absorbed that they could perform their duties in their sleep. She knew, too, that their hours of lighthearted jest and the growing camaraderie between them could not last.
On Friday evening, just before Joshua was to accompany her back to Morningside, a hastily scribbled note from Curtis arrived.
“He says we’re to be ready by ten on Monday, packed and prepared to be gone a week, though it won’t be any longer than absolutely necessary. He’ll explain everything in person, Monday mornin’.” Joshua spoke the words without emotion, but Maureen sensed his anxiety. “He says to make certain we’re both seen in church on Sunday—to sit in the balcony with Mrs. Melkford. He’ll be there, but we should in no way recognize him. He expects Drake to be there as well.”
Neither spoke during the drive toward Morningside, though Maureen felt as if she could hear all their mental wheels spinning.
“We’ve been prepared for a purpose,” Joshua whispered as he helped her from the car parked three blocks from the Wakefield mansion. He took her arm to walk the last blocks through back streets, careful they not be seen. “I don’t know what it is we’ll be doin’ exactly, but my instincts say it won’t be safe nor easy.”
When have I been truly safe? When has life been easy?
He pulled her arm more surely through his own as they walked, a protection she leaned into, craving the warmth and solidity of his presence.
“I wish—I almost wish I’d not brought you into this, except for these days we’ve shared.” His fingers tightened over hers. “I swear I’ll do my best to keep you safe, but I don’t know what is to come.”
She squeezed his hand. “I know you’ll do your best, Joshua Keeton. And I’ll do mine.” And I would not trade these days for anythin’. You’ve been spring to me, carin’ for me, respectin’ me, doin’ all in your power to prepare me for whatever lies ahead.
They reached the back gate of Morningside, an entrance shrouded by an old holly weighted down in berries. In the darkness, beneath a three-quarter and faintly ringed moon, Joshua’s finger lifted her chin. Tentatively, his lips touched hers.
Maureen’s heart trilled and swelled. She stepped back in surprise, as much at her inner response as at his touch. Joshua did not pursue her but briefly raised her gloved fingers to his lips, to his cheek. He bowed, the gentleman he’d become. The gentleman he’s always been.
Katie Rose dropped the edge of her bedroom window drapery, letting it fall into place. A tear slipped down her cheek. Though it had been dark, her vision faint, she’d seen enough.
“Katie Rose has not come down to breakfast?” Maureen asked Saturday morning, late though she was.
“Grayson said she left early for the factory and told Cook not to expect her for the evening meal.” Olivia frowned. “She asked Grayson to tell me that she won’t be attending the Ladies’ Circle this afternoon.”
“It’s not like her to miss a good meal. Did she say why so early or so late?”
Olivia shook her head. “She said nothing to you last night?”
“No, but I was late comin’ in. Her light was off.” Maureen opened her napkin. “Did she ask for me?”
“She wondered where you were at dinner. I told her you were working and that your hours were uncertain.” Olivia colored slightly. “I didn’t know what else to say.”
Maureen sat back, smoothed her napkin in her lap, and tried to view Olivia’s words as her sister might. But she realized she knew exactly what Katie Rose would think of her “working” late hours. At least she’s trailed by someone who will see that she’s safe. Curtis made certain of that.
“Maureen?” Olivia sounded hesitant.
Maureen wearily lifted her eyes, wondering if she was looking for trouble where there was none or if she should go to the factory and ask Katie Rose directly what she was up to, where she went so early, and why she would return so late. It’s so hard to know with her. “Yes?”
“Curtis has asked me not to question the work he’s having you do—at least not for the time being.”
“’Tis for the best, he said. For Joshua and for me.” Maureen sat a little straighter. It felt good to link their names together.
“Yes, I understand . . . at least I’m trying to understand.” Olivia appeared distressed, something that registered so foreign in her character that it captured Maureen’s full attention. Olivia blushed. “I’m afraid this sounds . . . exactly what it is, but I must ask.”
“Ask me anythin’. I’ll tell you if I can.”
“I just wonder, do you . . . love him?” Olivia looked to Maureen as though the asking had sentenced her to face a firing squad.
So unexpected was the question that Maureen could not control the unbidden rise of heat from her core to her hairline, the rush through her limbs. “Love him? No, of course not.” Does my turmoil show so clearly? If Olivia suspects, does Katie Rose? How could she when we’ve barely spoken a civil word since I moved in? But does Olivia think I’m betrayin’ my sister’s heart? Katie Rose is still a child! “No—I don’t think so.” She remembered the warm flush of happiness as Joshua kissed her the night before and felt the sudden rush once more. “But how can I know?” she said aloud in contemplation.
The anguish in Olivia’s eyes confused Maureen.
“Do you think it’s wrong?” Maureen held her breath, wondering what it was she could not see, was too blind to see.
Olivia’s forced smile unsettled her more. “No. No, of course not. Love between two people who care for and respect each other is . . . is wonderful.” And yet her face looked anything but wonderful to Maureen.
Mrs. Melkford was delighted to have Maureen and Katie Rose join her on her walk to church Sunday morning, though it took less than a moment to realize that all was not well between the sisters. She looped Katie Rose’s arm.
“I’ve seen far too little of you girls since you moved in with Miss Wakefield, though I suspect that’s as it should be. I’m delighted you’re there, safe and sound and well fed. You must enjoy lively evenings all together.”
But the grim line where Katie Rose’s mouth should have been told her they did not. Mrs. Melkford changed the subject. “Have you found new work, Maureen?” She immediately sensed that was not a safe topic, either.
“Yes, I think so.” Maureen appeared to hedge.
“Not certain?”
“I begin tomorrow.” Maureen walked briskly on.
Mrs. Melkford decided to mind her own business, but that some extra time in prayer for her young friends was definitely in order.
“I’ll be away for a time.” Ma
ureen surprised Mrs. Melkford by slowing and speaking at last.
“Going away?” Now that is not what I expected.
“Yes.” Maureen hesitated. “My employer travels for work, and I’m to attend him and his family.”
Katie Rose stopped suddenly, wrenching Mrs. Melkford’s arm so that they both nearly fell backward. “You’ve gone back into service?”
Maureen’s face, a plum in the cool morning air, now blanched white. “It’s the only work I could find.”
“You said—you swore—you’d never—never in a million years!” Katie Rose exploded.
“Domestic service is perfectly respectable, Katie Rose,” Mrs. Melkford admonished.
“Not with her it isn’t!”
“Katie Rose! Apologize to your sister.”
But Katie Rose dropped Mrs. Melkford’s arm and pushed Maureen with both fists into the street, her words rushing out as though a dam had burst. “Who is he? Who is he this time, Maureen? Or is there more than one? Are you farmin’ yourself out to the masses now—lettin’ them take turns crawlin’ all over you?”
Maureen slapped her sister and slapped her hard.
“You whore!” Katie Rose hissed.
Maureen raised her arm to slap her again, but Joshua, who’d joined the group unseen, caught her hand in midair.
“You’re not wantin’ to do that,” he said quietly. “You love Katie Rose.”
“But she loves only herself, and she uses you!” Katie Rose shouted to Joshua. “Don’t you see? You’re just another in a long line of—”
Mrs. Melkford grabbed Katie Rose by the arm and shook her. “Stop that! Stop before you say more than you can ever take back.”
Katie Rose stopped abruptly, covering her face with her hands. The broken dam that had poured spite and venom now poured tears, great and wrenching.