Cinders to Satin

by Fern Michaels

  “Don’t be dreaming and fooling yourself that you’ll be allowed to stay here. This won’t be the first time a rich woman’s son got a servant with child. It’s simply not tolerated, and somehow if you’re rich, you don’t have to struggle with your conscience. We’ve got to start planning for you, but I have to admit, I don’t know where to start. MacDuff might have some ideas. He’s got friends in the city, not that you’d ever know, the way he keeps his lip buttoned. You drink this tea now, it’s cooled enough. Better yet, take it to your room, and I’ll keep my eye on Mary. She’ll be busy for a while yet with the new chicks. Don’t be despairing now, we’ve still got time before Mrs. Powers comes home.”

  Callie hated to say it, and the words almost stuck in her throat, but she had to say it nevertheless. “Rossiter,” she managed to croak, “I’ve got to tell Rossiter.”

  “I understand that, child, but I doubt you’ll be getting the chance to say anything to young Master Rossiter. You have to start thinking for yourself now because he isn’t here to help you. Master Rossiter has a way to go before he becomes a man.” The child had to know. Had to believe. He was a boy still with his mama pampering him. He was probably off somewhere painting his pictures that no one wanted to buy or chasing another skirt. She snorted at the unworthy occupation.

  “No, Lena. Rossiter told me he loved me. If he knew about this, he would rush home to me. I know it. He said he loved me, Lena.”

  “All men say that,” Lena said. “All they want from a young girl like yourself is one thing. No man likes to take responsibility. Master Rossiter has a good many oats to sow yet, and he won’t be tying himself down with a wife and baby, even if his mama would allow it, which she won’t. I’m not trying to be cruel, Callie,” Lena added kindly. “I don’t want to see you get hurt more than you are now.”

  “I’ll write a letter to him and tell him,” Callie said. “As soon as he knows, he’ll come home. He said he loved me, Lena, and I believed him.”

  “I’m sure, lass, that he did mean it when he said it, but now that he isn’t here and he’s in Boston where his mama is jamming society down his throat . . .” What was the use, the child didn’t need more misery. She would have to find out the hard way, the way all women found out. “Go along, Callie, and rest a bit. I have some tall thinking to do. We’ll watch out for Miss Mary.”

  Callie dragged herself back to her rooms. A baby. Rossiter’s baby. Her hand went to the round of her stomach and stayed there for a moment.

  I won’t feel ashamed. I won’t. Anything as wonderful as their love couldn’t be shameful. It just couldn’t. Rossiter did mean everything he said. He wouldn’t lie to her. Rossiter wasn’t like that. Callie buried her head in her pillow as sobs racked her body. Small, clenched fists pounded the pillows. He did love her. He did!

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mrs. Powers and Anne returned on a glorious September day, full of the wild colors of summer and sunshine. Callie ached as she stood by the nursery window watching Mary run to her mother, holding out her arms. Anne Powers swooped down and folded the child against her, but not before she let her eyes travel to the third-floor window where Callie was watching. Callie wished she could run into Peggy’s arms just that way, to be held and mothered and clucked over and made to believe that nothing was so important as what was making Callie unhappy. But Callie couldn’t even unburden herself by confiding in Peggy. It would break her mother’s heart to know she had disgraced herself. Also, one of Peggy’s letters stood clearly in Callie’s mind.

  It was the letter in answer to the one Callie had sent that was filled with descriptions of Rossiter. Callie had been so overwhelmed by his trifling gift of the shell comb that she just had to share it with someone she loved. Peggy’s returning letter was filled with news of the family and local gossip that would interest Callie. But midway through, giving it a place of little importance, wise Peggy had issued her warning. “You have always been such a good girl, my Callie, and your mother’s treasure. I miss those long talks we used to have over a cuppa tea. Often you’d make me angry when you’d talk down your own Da, and I used to tell you that only in giving your heart completely to the one you loved, if it was deserved or not, could you find real happiness. I still believe a woman should give her heart over to her husband. It takes a world of trust to do that, I know, but if a man speaks for a girl and marries her, it is the least she can give him.”

  That had been the turning phrase, the warning—“To her husband,” Peggy had said. Callie had cried when she’d read the letter. She’d called her Mum a fool for loving Thom the way she did, for defending him and overlooking his lack of responsibility. But if Da had done nothing else in his entire life for Mum, he had married her, and the children, however sorry their state, carried his name. But what saddened Callie most of all was the faith Peggy had in her, a trust that had been betrayed almost from the moment Callie had set eyes upon Rossiter.

  It seemed hours before Mary returned to the nursery with two gaily wrapped presents. “From Papá, Callie,” Mary squealed happily. “Isn’t it wonderful that we’re a family again? Well, almost a family. Papá isn’t back yet, and neither is Rossiter. At least I think Rossiter will come home with Papá. Mamán didn’t say for sure.” If only Mary knew how Callie held her breath, hoping for more news of Rossiter.

  “Why . . . why didn’t your brother come home with your mother?” Callie finally mustered the courage to ask.

  “You know why.” Mary looked at her friend, puzzled. “It was there in Papá’s letter to Mr. MacDuff. He’s staying in Boston with Papá. Maybe Papá is teaching him how to do business. And Mamán told me a secret.” Mary lowered her voice conspiratorially. “He’s found a girl in Boston, and Mamán thinks it’s a perfect match. Anne said it was. Anne said that all the young ladies in Boston had their caps set for Rossiter because he’s so handsome. Isn’t that wonderful, Callie? Just think, Rossiter might get married. Mamán will be so happy.” Mary was tearing through the wrapping paper. “Look, Callie, Papá sent a doll almost like the one Rossiter gave me. Now I can pretend they’re sisters. No, I’ll pretend one is you and one is me. What’s your present, Callie?”

  Callie opened her box and withdrew a lavender lace shawl. She hardly noticed the fine lace, her thoughts were so filled with Rossiter and unanswered questions.

  “It’s beautiful,” Mary sighed. “Almost beautiful enough to get married in, but you’re supposed to wear white, aren’t you?” Mary poked beneath the doll’s dress to see what she was wearing underneath.

  “I think so. I’ll put this away. Why don’t you play with your dolls? I want to write a letter and post it tomorrow.”

  “You’ll have to post it after you see Mamán. She said to tell you to come to her directly after breakfast. Just you, Callie. She told me to stay here in the nursery.”

  Callie’s heart thumped wildly. She had been expecting the summons, so it came as no surprise. Later, she would worry about it later, but not now. Now she was going to write a letter to Rossiter.

  Settling herself on the edge of the bed, she selected a sheet of the stationery Byrch Kenyon had given her for her birthday. Her birthday, the day she had first met Rossiter. She would never have another birthday without thinking of him. She stared at the blank page for a long time. How should she tell him? What were the words? In the end, it was a simple little letter:

  Dear Rossiter,

  I am truly sorry you did not return with your mother and sister. I miss you very much. I am writing to tell you some news, and I know when you learn it, you will come home. I will be waiting. I am going to have your baby. I love you, Rossiter, and I know that you love me. You said you loved me, and I believed you.

  Please hurry home so that we can be together again. I forgive you for not writing to me and for not saying goodbye before you left. I need to know what to do. Should I tell your mother, or should I wait till you return?

  Your devoted love,

  Callie

  Callie read and rer
ead the letter. It said everything she had to say. Now she would have to wait for Rossiter to answer. Maybe he would rush home to her instead of writing. A prayer filled her heart.

  It was impossible to sleep. Rossiter’s face kept stealing into her dreams. Rossiter had said he loved her, and she believed him. Something kept niggling at her brain, like a little fish nibbling at the bait. Had Rossiter told her he loved her? Or had he said he liked loving her? Was there really a difference? Her mind denied it.

  She simply hadn’t heard from Rossiter because he was a man and he didn’t like to write letters. Her excuses for him became legion. He hadn’t come to say goodbye because it was a sad business and he was sparing her the misery. Rossiter just didn’t realize how important he was to her; men just didn’t understand things like that.

  Lordy, her head ached. If she didn’t get some sleep, she was going to look as if someone had taken a club to her in the morning. It was important to be at her best when she saw Mrs. Powers after breakfast.

  Dawn was creeping into day when Callie finally closed her eyes. She woke a short time later feeling sluggish and sick to her stomach. She hated this queasiness that was almost constantly with her, but she was bright enough to realize it was accentuated by her mental suffering. Today, when she posted the letter to Rossiter, she would be taking the first step in the right direction. It was time she took charge of her life. She was actually feeling somewhat better when she remembered she had to see Mrs. Powers. She washed her face and dressed for the day, taking particular care with her appearance. Mary was awake for the day, rambling on about Mr. Reader coming in for her lessons next week and complaining of hunger and what she wanted for breakfast. The thought of food almost made Callie gag.

  Anne Powers sat at the breakfast table as though she were holding court. She was up and dressed for the day in a lightweight linen dress of pale green trimmed with accents of a darker shade of the same color. Her hair, worn simply in this damnable heat, was brought to the back of her head and secured in a thick roll. She dabbed her mouth with a snowy white napkin. Breakfast was one of her favorite meals, although she enjoyed lunch and thought of dinner as a social event. But now her thoughts were centered upon Callie James, and a bitter expression came over her face. Now she could handle the situation without fear of Callie running off to Jasper to tell him what she’d seen in the front hall the day Dr. Margolis came to call.

  How best to manage it? There was no rush, really. Rossiter wouldn’t be returning home for some time. She herself had arranged for Rossiter to accompany his uncle to Chicago to learn the foundations of a new enterprise in which the two families were investing. Jasper would be gone at least until the end of the month.

  Some instinct told her it would be unwise to discharge Callie now, so soon after her return. Jasper would not see just cause to the dismissal. Mary was well and had thrived during their absence. The child certainly had a mind of her own and would be quick to tell her father there was nothing amiss. It would be best to wait a while, perhaps a week or so, to give herself time to manufacture something that would discredit the girl. Still, there was no harm in baiting her, letting Callie know that she wasn’t fooling her for one minute. If there was one thing she had learned from her husband, it was how to play a waiting game, and wasn’t it Byrch Kenyon who was forever saying there was more than one way to skin a cat?

  And she had another problem weighing on her mind. She had promised Evan Margolis that she would stop by his offices. A warm flush crept up her neck and lodged in her cheeks, making them throb. As far as Callie was concerned with that little matter, the best way to handle the situation was to say and do nothing. To protest, to defend, would make the situation more than it was. Callie knew her place. But to have been caught by the little slut was almost more than Anne could bear. Did she really want to see the good doctor again? Of course she did, but there was no way she was going to offer her services as a nurse. She would plead headaches and ask for something in the way of medicine, saying there were days when the headaches were so bad she couldn’t get out of bed. From that point on she would wait and see what developed.

  It was strange, but her ears felt warm. She felt warm all over, deliciously so. Her mind rambled as she tried to think what she would do if Evan felt the same as she did. Was she capable of carrying on an affair? Absurd! Of course not. She was a good woman. A respectable woman. A faithful wife!

  What harm could come from a little hand-holding or a few discreet kisses? Her ears became warmer as she remembered how wanton she had felt standing in the alcove by the front door, kissing her son’s doctor. She knew she had never kissed Jasper like that. Jasper had never kissed her like that, either. Rossiter would have kissed Callie like that. Her lips started to quiver at the thought. Callie James was a slut.

  When Callie knocked on the parlor door, Anne Powers composed herself. Or so she thought. She knew what Callie looked like, but she wasn’t prepared for this slim, hollow-eyed young woman who stared at her with what Anne could only describe later as defiance.

  “How did things go while we were away, Callie?”

  “Very well, Mrs. Powers.” Oh, if only she dared ask all the questions she needed answers to.

  “You don’t look well, Callie. Haven’t you been sleeping? Is Mary too much for you to handle? She is a growing girl, and if you feel that you can’t handle so much responsibility, I can relieve you of your duties.”

  “No, Mrs. Powers, everything is fine. If my appearance offends you, I’ll stay out of your sight,” Callie said bluntly. What was she supposed to say? Was it going to come down to her begging for her job? Mrs. Powers was playing a cat-and-mouse game with her. Of this she was certain. It was cruel and unnecessary. Her shoulders stiffened imperceptibly, and her head inched a shade higher on her slim shoulders. The clear blue eyes were defiant, almost insolent, Anne Powers thought. She could feel her stomach churn when she thought of what her son and this slut had been doing together.

  She tossed Callie a bone to see what she would do. “I plan to invite Dr. Margolis to tea one day this week and would like Mary to attend. Just Mary.”

  Callie thought her heart would leap out of her chest. Dr. Margolis might detect Mary’s problem! When Mary was alone, she had a tendency to become careless. The defiant eyes became frightened, and Callie backed off a step. She didn’t like the way her legs trembled or the way her stomach was heaving. “Yes, Mrs. Powers,” she managed to mutter.

  “Are you going somewhere, Callie? Why are you backing away from me like that?” Anne Powers demanded harshly. This little slut was judging her, Anne thought, believing Callie knew that the man she’d seen her employer kissing was the same Dr. Margolis.

  “I wasn’t. Was there something else, Mrs. Powers?” Callie asked in a choked voice. Now she was in for it. Mary would never make it through an entire tea with a doctor watching and listening to her shrill voice. Never! What would the child do when she found out! Oh, Mum, if only you were here to tell me what to do.

  “Don’t you want to hear about our trip to Boston, Callie?” Not waiting for the girl to reply, she rushed on. “My dear, I had to screen, I mean really screen the young men who flocked after Anne. The girl had such a dizzying array of parties and luncheons that she never slept. Rossiter was so in demand by all the young ladies, I almost went out of my mind. I’ll tell you something in confidence, Callie, and you mustn’t whisper a word of it to Mary. I want your promise now.” Callie nodded. “Rossiter has proposed to a beautiful young woman,” Anne Powers lied. “An heiress. Isn’t that simply wonderful? She accepted, of course. You must be happy for him the way we all are. Tell me, are you happy for my son, Callie? I want to hear you say the words,” she said spitefully.

  Callie swallowed hard, feeling as though the floor was about to heave under her feet.

  She stared levelly at her employer and spoke quietly. “I’m very happy for your son, Mrs. Powers. I’m happy for you also.” Callie fixed her gaze, shoulders squared, chin tilted upward. Th
e world was shattering around her, but she held to her pride. Her steadiness seemed to upset Mrs. Powers. It was as though the woman expected her to grovel on hands and knees, begging to hear that what she’d told her about Rossiter wasn’t true. Callie’s fingers touched the crisp envelope in her apron pocket. Rossiter would answer. Rossiter would come back.

  Anne Powers’s eyes narrowed on Callie, flashing hatred at this little chit who had assumed herself to be good enough for Rossiter. “Enough!” she exclaimed. “Go and tend to your chores!” She turned away, listening for Callie to leave. The nerve, the colossal nerve of the girl! How dare she mock her? A deep bone-crunching hatred overcame her. For one brief instant she wondered if the hatred was for Callie or herself. It had been her duty to keep a vigilant eye on the comings and goings of her children. She should have suspected earlier that something was happening between Rossiter and the little slut. She never should have allowed herself to be caught in a compromising situation. Then this whole business could have been dealt with cleanly and swiftly. As it was, she almost felt as though she was at Callie’s mercy.

  Pondering her next move, Anne paced the parlor, swiftly kicking her long skirts out in front of her. The sun was streaming in the parlor windows, making lacy patterns on the carpet through the curtains. A movement at the end of the drive caught her attention. Callie, closing the mailbox, lifting the red flag to alert the postman. Curiosity prickled the back of her neck. Perhaps it was just another letter to that Irish tribe back in Dublin. But something about the way Callie glanced to the left and then to the right alarmed her and sharpened her instincts. She watched the girl run back up the drive, heard the front door close quietly, the latch catching. After a good, long moment, Anne Powers left the house and walked to the mailbox. Inside rested a letter addressed to Rossiter. Quickly, leaving the red flag up, she pocketed the crisp, white envelope. Her conscience gave her no qualms. She was simply saving her son from being harassed by a lovesick servant girl’s letter of adoring worship. Back in the parlor, it occurred to Anne to open the letter and read it, but the idea was abhorrent to her. She had no wish to sully herself with the deed nor to know first-hand exactly what relationship existed between Rossiter and Callie. It was enough to know she had successfully nipped it in the bud. Striking a sulphur match to flame, she held it to the envelope, watching it catch and burn. She dropped the ash into the hearth and dusted her hands with finality.