A Perfect Mistress

by Barbara Mack

  Delia had taken to her bed, much to Sophie’s relief. She let out the breath she’d been holding when Mrs. Ferguson came bustling out of the kitchen to tell her so, her round face creased with worry.

  “What are you going to do, Sophie?” she asked. “You know, if you have nowhere to go, you can share quarters with my sister. I sent a boy over with a note, and she’s agreed. It would be crowded there and not what you’re used to, but it would be a roof over your head.”

  Sophie hugged the small, round woman to her. “That’s the sweetest thing,” she choked out. “Let me see what I can do first, but it may very well come to that.”

  “My sister would be glad to have you,” Mrs. Ferguson said. “She’s a good woman, and she’d treat you a sight better than your own sister does.”

  Sophie forced herself to work hard all afternoon, hoping it would distract her from her gloomy thoughts. How she wished she had someone to talk to, she thought as she scrubbed the fireplace in the sitting room. She needed someone who would listen to her fears and reassure her that everything would be all right. Someone to tell her everything was going to work out fine.

  Someone who would tell her what to do, because she hadn’t the faintest idea.

  The next morning, Sophie heaved herself from her bed, still thinking about her predicament. She pulled on her clothes, feeling hopelessly weary. She hadn’t slept well. The night had been full of vivid dreams – ones where Delia had cast her into the street, where Jackson had laughed in her face when she told him she wanted to go with him, and Mrs. Ferguson’s sister had turned out to be a monster that stood over her with a whip.

  To her surprise, Delia sat at the kitchen table. Sophie sighed. She’d been hoping to eat a quick breakfast and hide from her all day. Sophie held her breath, waiting wearily for the fight to begin again. She almost tripped over a chair when Delia smiled cheerily at her instead.

  “Sophie!” she cried. “How are you this morning?”

  “I am just fine.” She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot that sat on the sideboard and smiled her thanks when Mrs. Ferguson brought her a plate of eggs.

  “You’re not holding a grudge from yesterday, are you?” Delia fluttered her eyelashes, and Sophie took a sip of her coffee to keep from rolling her eyes.

  “No, of course not,” she said. “You seemed the one who had a grudge, not me.”

  “I was merely upset.” Delia put her hand on Sophie’s, and she struggled against the desire to pull it away. She couldn’t help but believe this was false – Delia hadn’t been this nice to her since she’d arrived on her doorstep. What, exactly, had made her change her mind?

  Sophie drained her coffee, wanting to get away from this table. Whatever game Delia was playing, she could play it alone.

  “Let me get you another cup of coffee, dear.”

  Delia plucked the mug from her hand and swept away with it before Sophie could say a word. Sophie stared at her back, wondering just why Delia was being so nice.

  Delia put the mug in front of her with a sweet smile.

  “Drink up, dear one.” She slipped into her chair and drank her own coffee. “My, Mrs. Ferguson makes a fine cup of coffee, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, she does.” Sophie sipped the hot drink as she picked at her eggs. She tried a half-smile. Perhaps Delia really did want to make up. Best to give her the benefit of the doubt. It couldn’t hurt to make small talk over one meal, could it? “It seems a little bitter this morning, though.” She took a big drink of the coffee and made a face. “Really, really bitter.”

  “You’re just tired,” Delia said. “You look a little peaky.”

  Delia was right, she was tired. Sophie felt funny all of a sudden, and she put a hand to her head. Her vision swam. What was happening to her? She looked across the table at Delia, who had a smile like the cat that got into the cream. She reached out a hand to steady herself on the table and missed it entirely, slumping sideways in her chair.

  “What is it, dear?” Delia cooed. “Not feeling well?”

  Sophie felt her stomach clench, and her thoughts raced. Just why had her selfish sister offered to refill her coffee, when she couldn’t even be counted on to serve herself? She’d been known to call Mrs. Ferguson from the other room just to fill her cup of a morning. This was wrong. She opened her mouth to call for help but the words wouldn’t come. Mrs. Ferguson stared at her from across the room, and Sophie tried to raise her hand to the woman, who looked frightened. She couldn’t seem to make her limbs work. She felt horror grow cold inside her, but she couldn’t scream.

  Delia had poisoned her.

  “Let me help you to back to bed, Sophie.” Delia grasped her with hard hands and pulled her from her chair. Sophie listed to one side and Delia pulled her upright. “You have a little lie-down, and you’ll feel just the thing later. I’ll do it, Mrs. Ferguson,” she trilled as the woman hurried over and tried to help. “No need to disturb your work.”

  Sophie tried to resist, but it seemed impossible. Delia dragged her up the stairs and into her room, throwing her down on the hard bed and losing the loving attitude now that she no longer had an audience. She thrust her face down to Sophie’s, and smiled, but it wasn’t a merry smile. It made Sophie shudder inside.

  “Thought you’d just run off and leave me high and dry, did you? Thought you’d just leave, after everything I’ve done for you. You know that would be a hardship for me, having to pay someone else to keep my house, but you don’t care. You’re a selfish, selfish woman, and you don’t care about my feelings in the slightest.” Delia’s tone was reproachful and as matter-of-fact as if they were discussing the weather.

  ‘She’s mad,’ Sophie thought. ‘She’s killed me because I wanted to leave, and she still blames me for it.’

  “But I’ve found a way to get the money I need to run this household and pay for two more servants beside.” She rubbed her hands together and smiled angelically at her sister. “And all I have to do is deliver you and that insipid little maid to a woman I know. She’ll pay top dollar for you both, and I’ll never have to worry about money again. And if I run short again, all I have to do is find another pretty young woman to serve up to her guests. I used to work for her, but she says I’m too old for her clientele.”

  Delia made a face and pinched her cheek, hard, but Sophie couldn’t even flinch. She was trapped in a body that had become a prison, and she was growing increasingly sleepy. She struggled to stay awake, to focus on what Delia was saying, but the words seemed to be coming from very far away.

  “You’re just the right age, though, Sophie. Don’t worry: You’ll get paid for the work you do after tonight. I’ll only get your fee this once, not forever. And it won’t be nearly as bad as when father did it to me – at least you’ve had a lover already. You know what to expect. Of course, there will be more than one tonight, but I promise you, it won’t be so bad. I’ll make sure to give you another dose of laudanum before they get started.”

  She smoothed Sophie’s hair and sat on the edge of the rough bed, her face pensive. Sophie’s skin crawled at her touch. Her eyes closed, and she forced them open again. Delia kept stroking her hair, and Sophie so wanted to move away, but the most she could do was move her head an inch to the right. Delia paid no attention to that at all; she just moved Sophie’s head right back where it was before and continued, her touch becoming harder and harder, until they felt like blows instead of strokes.

  “I never told you about Father, did I? At first, he seemed to love me so much more after coming into my room at night and doing things to me. He told me that I was taking Mother’s place, and that I would learn to like it after a while. He was right; I did like it. Before very long, he made me crave him and the things he did to me, and then he changed toward me. He started talking about sin and stopped coming to me at night. I begged him to change his mind, but he refused. He seemed almost to loathe me; he could hardly stand to look at me, he said. I told him that I would tell everyone what he had done
unless he came to me again, but he wouldn’t. He struck me across the face and knocked me to the ground, called me a whore and an abomination, so I ran away and found someone else who would love me. For a while, anyway. All men are fickle, I suppose.” Delia sighed. “I do so hope I’ve got the dose of laudanum right, Sophie. You’ll miss all tonight’s fun if that’s the case. They want you groggy, not unconscious.”

  Sophie’s mind cried out in horror as her sister giggled and left the room. She fell into darkness with her unvoiced screams echoing through her head.

  **************

  When Sophie opened her eyes, it was dark and her mouth was dry. Her head ached almost beyond bearing, and she let out a little moan. She started violently when a hand touched her face.

  “Shhh!” said an urgent voice. “She’ll hear me. Here, take a sip of water.”

  A hand helped her raise her head, and Sophie gulped down a drink.

  “Not so fast, you’ll be sick.”

  Sophie recognized the voice – it was Claire, the little maid, only twelve years old, the one Delia planned to…her stomach roiled, and she gagged. Claire patted her back and gave her another sip. Sophie rested her head against the child’s thin shoulder, and tried to force herself awake.

  “Mrs. Ferguson warned me, and I only pretended to drink what she gave me. I pretended to get sleepy, too. She put me in here with you, and Mrs. Ferguson has sent a message to her sister. She’s waiting outside for us, in the alley. We have to get away, Miss Sophie. I waited for you to wake up. I didn’t want to leave you here with her.” Her voice was insistent, and she tugged on Sophie’s shoulder. “She’s not right. Mrs. Ferguson is leaving, too. She’s going to sneak out and never come back here. We’re going to have to go out the back way. ”

  “I think I can do it,” Sophie whispered. “Just…just give me a minute.”

  “I’m so afraid,” Claire whispered, and her voice was taut with fear. “I’m so afraid that she’ll catch us and my folks will never know what happened to me. I heard her talking to herself when I was supposed to be asleep. She has a man coming to pick us up later.”

  Sophie swung her legs over the side of the bed and the mattress rustled. She held her breath, and stood up with Claire’s help, leaning heavily on the child.

  “The window,” she whispered. “We’re going to have to climb down the tree, Claire. Otherwise she will hear us. The stairs creak, and the doors all need oiling. We’ll never make it out without her hearing us. I sometimes open my window at night for air, and I made sure it doesn’t squeak.”

  With Claire’s help, Sophie pried the window open, letting out a sigh of relief when the night air rushed into the room. She helped the child out onto the big limb that she’d been warning Delia needed cutting for months now, and laughed at the irony of it. If Delia had listened to her, they’d be stuck here – thank goodness Delia was so cheap with the household money. Her eyes burned and my throat ached as Sophie threw one leg over the sill. She climbed out the window and down the tree slowly, following Claire. She hung by her hands from the lowest limb and dropped to the ground, so weak that she could barely stand. Claire helped her up, and urged her on to the alley behind the house.

  It was pitch black outside, and Sophie stumbled. There were no stars, and the moon was a tiny sliver in the sky.

  “Look!” Claire whispered. She pointed into the shadows. “There she is! She’s got my mother with her!”

  She pulled Sophie with her into the alley, and flew into an older woman’s arms.

  “Hush, child, we don’t want to be heard” the woman murmured, and Claire was instantly silent. She hooked her arm through one of her mother’s and pressed against her side. When Sophie swayed, Claire’s mother took Sophie’s arm, as well. “Bonita, help me with her. She’s all a-tremble.”

  A small, round woman who looked remarkably like Mrs. Ferguson came and took Sophie’s other arm. “We’ve got a wagon around the corner. Claire’s father is too ill to come, but his brother is waiting for us. Hurry now, Miss Sophie. My sister is already in the wagon waiting. We thought we might have to storm the house.”

  They half-carried her to the wagon and boosted her inside. She fell into Mrs. Ferguson’s embrace, and then the strain was too much for her. Sophie fainted dead away, while Mrs. Ferguson clutched her to her ample breast. The last thing she heard was Claire’s uncle clucking quietly to the horse and the harness jingling as they drove away.

  Chapter Four

  When Sophie opened her eyes, she was nose-to-nose with a little girl. The child, who couldn’t be more than two, giggled when Sophie smiled at her and sat up. She popped a thumb in her mouth and Sophie lifted a hand to ruffle her brown curls.

  “Hello,” Sophie croaked. Her mouth was parched, and Sophie thought longingly of cold, clear water.

  “Pwitty.” The child reached out and snarled her hand in Sophie’s hair.

  “Becca!” scolded a voice. “I told you to let her sleep.”

  “She not s’eepin’,” said the child. “Look, Ma. She awake.”

  The woman swooped in and picked the child up, and she giggled and pushed her head into her mother’s neck. Sophie recognized the woman now – it was hard not to, since she looked so much like her sister.

  “Bonita, isn’t it?” she whispered. “Where is Mrs. Ferguson? And is Claire all right?” Sophie looked around. “I don’t remember anything after getting in the wagon.”

  “Don’t fret yourself, child,” Bonita soothed as Becca squirmed to get down. She put the child down, and she began to skip around the room, singing. Sophie smiled at her, and Becca clapped her hands and sang louder.

  “Hush, Becca!” said her mother. “Pay no attention to her, she’s just showing out for you. Claire is with her parents, and m’sister Nancy is in the next room. Claire’s uncle carried you in last night, and you never even stirred. We had the doctor ‘round, and he said just to let you sleep, that the laudanum would be in your system a day or two and we weren’t to worry if you didn’t come to for a while. He’ll be back later to look in on you again.”

  “A day or two? How long have I been sleeping?”

  Bonita handed her a glass of water and Sophie drank it down thirstily. My, that was good. She looked longingly at the empty glass, and Bonita filled it again.

  “It’s nearly dark again, child,” she said kindly. “I reckon it’s about 6 o’clock.”

  “Jackson!” Sophie whispered. Her heart fell to her feet. He’ll be thinking I’ve made up my mind, she thought numbly. He’ll go to the house, and Delia will lie to him. I’ll never see him again.

  “I don’t even know where he’s staying,” she said out loud.

  Bonita patted her hand. “That’s your man?” she asked kindly. “The one you been seein’, and caused your sister to go so ...” She made a little twirly motion with her finger beside her head, and Sophie laughed despite herself. She nodded.

  “Nancy told me ‘bout him, and she was worrit that crazy Delia would tell him a bunch o’ lies. We sent m’ youngest boy over to the park and he waited ‘til he saw him. Good thing he’s got that eye patch, or my Robert would never have found him. He said the park was full to burstin’ with dark-haired, handsome men. Nancy and I are goin’ to dress up right smart and go there tomorrow.” Bonita laughed and slapped her hips, and Becca laughed from the doorway, not knowing what the joke was, but happy to join in all the same. “He told him where you was, and your fella will be here to see you tomorrow at one o’clock, same time he was to meet you in the park.”

  “What about Delia? She’s gone mad, I’m afraid. We can’t let her go unpunished. What if she kidnaps a child and sells her, like she was going to do to Claire?” And me, she thought. Her own sister.

  “You don’t worry about that,” Nancy Ferguson said from the doorway. “Claire and I visited the police this morning. They know all about her now, and she won’t get away with anything. She was told that you would be pressing charges when you were well, along with Claire and he
r parents. Claire’s uncle says she was seen leaving the house not an hour after the police visited, carrying a valise and hurrying like she was goin’ to a fire.”

  Sophie let out a glad cry and held out her arms, and Mrs. Ferguson rushed over to put her motherly arms around her. Sophie put her head on her shoulder and hugged her tight.

  “I’m so glad you and Claire aren’t hurt. If it weren’t for you, both of us would be…”

  Mrs. Ferguson patted her back as Sophie began to sob.

  “It’s over now, Sophie. Don’t you worry about it anymore, you hear me? None of it was your fault. Your sister is mad, and that has nothing to do with you.”

  “She said my father…my father…”

  “It’s best to forget it,” Mrs. Ferguson said firmly, and her sister made an approving noise. “Let’s get you cleaned up and get some food in your belly. Everything will look much brighter then, you’ll see.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Bonita said.

  Both sisters were staring at her in an identical manner, hands on hips. Sophie laughed shakily and brushed the tears from her face. They were as alike as two peas in a pod.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Becca, and laughed gaily.

  Mrs. Ferguson was right. Sophie did feel better when her stomach was full of good food. The world didn’t seem such an awful place, and while she certainly regretted that her sister had gone off without receiving any punishment at all, she couldn’t regret that she wouldn’t be involved in putting her in jail.

  Robert had arrived, and he sat shyly beside her, sharing the cookies his mother had given him with his sister and peeping at Sophie with big, brown eyes. He blushed when she smiled at him, and Sophie hid a smile behind her hand. He seemed a sweet boy, no more than twelve. He was either on a growing spurt or his mother couldn’t afford to clothe him properly, because his pants and shirt sleeves were too short, leaving his bony ankles and wrists sticking out. Sophie would bet on the former, judging by how many cookies he ate while he sat beside her.