Cinders to Satin

by Fern Michaels

  Her mother wanted her to be sick, and she had gone along with the idea to prevent Callie from being blamed. Callie had been different lately. Her smiles were weak, and her eyes watery from time to time. Lena kept a sharp eye on her, as did Mr. MacDuff. Why? What did they know that she didn’t know? If only she could hear. Why did her mother want her to be sick? Mothers always wanted their children to be well so they wouldn’t have to worry.

  The doctor was coming to see her. She hated doctors. She didn’t want him touching her and sticking his stick down her throat. She didn’t want him to thump on her chest and listen to her heart beat, but most of all she didn’t want him looking in her ears or even talking to her. Callie was scared of the doctor’s visit. If Callie was scared, then so was she.

  Mamán had something up her sleeve, as Papá would say. And whatever it was that was up her sleeve, besides her arm, it had to do with Callie. Mary was certain of it. She was also just as certain that no one was going to tell her what it was. If only Rossiter or Papá were here. She had no one to talk to, no one to confide in. Callie wasn’t the same anymore.

  What would she ever do without Callie? How would she manage? Callie had promised she would never leave her. She had to believe that. She did believe it—as long as Papá was around. She remembered other things her mother had done against her father’s wishes while he was away. Would she do something to Callie? Mary’s hand flew to her mouth. Of course, she could. If it pleased her, she would do anything, regardless of how hurt anyone might be!

  She had to warn Callie. She had to warn Callie to be as good as she was going to be before her mother got it into her head to do something terrible. She didn’t feel disloyal toward her mother at all. Instead she felt protective of Callie, so much so that she realized she would lie, cheat or steal to make things right for her friend. Callie came first. Callie, next to Papá and Rossiter, was the only one who cared about her at all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Anne Powers peered closely at her reflection in the mirror. There was no need for rouge on her flushed cheeks. She liked the brightness in her eyes and the excitement that was coursing through her. The bright gaze in the mirror ignored the dry, prematurely aged skin and the excess flesh hanging at her neck. Her thoughts were those of a much younger woman as she primped at her hair and patted the sleeves of her burgundy afternoon dress. A delicious shiver of excitement raced up her arms when she remembered how she was drawn to Evan Margolis’s hands and the way those same hands felt on her back when he held her in his arms. She gave herself a little shake and started from the room. She had to see to tea and make certain Lena understood that she wasn’t to be disturbed after the doctor made his examination of Mary and handed over his little packet of pills for her stomach ailment. Surely the doctor would take the time for tea and a few words. She wondered if he had thought of her in the past weeks as much as she had thought of him. She hoped he wouldn’t bring up her impulsive confession of wanting to nurse the sick. If he did, she would go along with whatever he said and make decisions later.

  Carefully worded inquiries among her closest friends concerning Dr. Margolis had produced only positive replies. He was regarded as a “wonderful catch” and well-off in the bargain. Surely the man had income other than his medical fees. Otherwise how could he live in such a pretentious house and have so many servants? Ellen Macaffey, her closest friend, whispered behind her hand that Dr. Margolis was a bachelor by choice. Women flocked after the man, and he had to literally beat them off with a stick. The woman, she continued to whisper, who could lure the good doctor into her arms would indeed be a lucky woman. It had been all Anne could do to remain silent about her brief encounter in the hallway. Ellen would positively shrivel up and die if she so much as suspected anything going on with her good friend. Only “other women” did things like that. Sexual encounters were duties or something to be endured. Of course, if one wanted children, one put on a good face about it. Good women never enjoyed sexual relations or even pretended to enjoy them; they simply endured.

  How many nights had she lain in bed letting her imagination run away with her? So many she lost track of the count. Always, however, she stopped her runaway imagination when it was time to shed her clothes and get in bed with the dashing doctor. Sagging breasts and loose skin dismayed her and would certainly startle him. And what if he found out that she had trouble with her skin cracking and peeling on her feet? She would be so humiliated. What she needed, she told herself, was a magic potion to restore some semblance of youth.

  Darkness was the answer. Her mouth stretched into a thin line. Feeling was almost the same as seeing. She must remember to order a new supply of glycerin and rose water.

  They would be discreet. They would meet in carefully chosen places for tea or a light lunch and pretend they met by accident. Mary would probably need a series of house calls till she was back on her feet. She herself could pretend to be under the weather with one or another female complaint. There were unlimited possibilities, she told herself, if she wanted to take advantage of them.

  For the thousandth time she wished she knew what the good doctor felt after they had embraced so wickedly in the hall that day last spring. Her first impression was that she had startled him with her aggression. Then, when she had time to think about it a little more, she realized he was as overcome with passion as she was. There was no doubt about it, kissing was a dangerous business. Kissing led to all manner of wicked things. Children were often the result of kissing, in an indirect way, she told herself.

  When was the last time Jasper kissed her? Jasper’s kisses had always been safe, chaste. Dry, she told herself. There had never been any tongue touching, no moistness. Jasper was a dry man in more ways than one. A nice man but a dry man. Jasper had never excited her, never thrilled her to the core of her being. A pity she had to wait to be this old to want more. But did she want more? Did she hunger for wild, passionate kisses and a little wanton behavior with all her clothes on? Did she yearn for clandestine luncheons and secretive meetings? If she ever did manage to get into bed with the doctor, would she reach fulfillment as she never had with Jasper?

  She was getting a headache, her best and favorite excuse when Jasper wanted into her bed. Something told her she would never plead a headache where the doctor was concerned.

  Her movements were hurried as she made her way to the library to check out the tea setting. The doctor would enjoy tea in the library, she told herself, since it was a man’s room. It would be awkward in the main parlor with the servants going past and gawking. Besides, she wanted to be able to shut the door and have him all to herself. Should they have tea first and then have him check on Mary, or have him check on Mary first? Mary first, she told herself. The doctor would recognize her concern and not even think that she had concocted this little charade for her own benefit. Men were so naive.

  When the front-door bell rang, Anne almost jumped a foot. She inhaled slowly and deeply to regain control of her feelings, then rose from her chair and walked languidly into the foyer to greet the doctor. Why wasn’t he smiling at her as she offered her hand? He looked tired, poor man. Wary. The man was tired. It wasn’t wariness at all, but desire. The thought made her bold. “I’ve missed you,” she said, leaning closer to the doctor.

  “I was wondering when you were returning,” Margolis said in a harried tone. “Tell me, how is the child? Can she hold food in her stomach? Is she plagued with nausea like so many of the children I’ve seen in the past few days.”

  “A little,” Anne said vaguely. Up close he looked so much younger than she remembered. He wasn’t making any move to kiss her or even touch her. Surely he couldn’t be that tired. He seemed to like her boldness the last time he visited the house. How old was he? In his early forties or late thirties. Did he guess she was a hateful fifty-five years old? Men never thought of things like that, she told herself. Right now, this very minute, she didn’t feel any older than her daughter Anne. “Come along, doctor,” she said, bris
kly leading the way to the nursery. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering tea. Now I’m glad that I did. You look positively wrung out, doctor. I won’t take no for an answer. You busy men, you never take the time to eat properly. You could get sick too, you know,” she said, wagging a playful finger under the doctor’s nose. “Consider it a brief respite from your busy rounds.” He should have touched her arm by now. Laid a hand on her shoulder. Those beautiful hands. Her heart took on a furious beat as her step slowed. Was she going to have to do it all? Evidently. Taking a deep breath, she purposely stopped in mid-stride and allowed the doctor to brush against her. He moved as though touched by fire. “I’m not sorry I did that. I meant for you to—”

  “Dear lady, I realize exactly what you did. However, this is not the time or the place for a romantic interlude. About the last time I was here . . . I think I. . .”

  “There’s no need for you to apologize. I enjoyed the kiss. My heavens, doctor, I’m a wordly woman, not some stuffy school teacher who is oblivious to the outside world. You move in the same sophisticated social circles as myself. I don’t think either of us should apologize.” There, she had said it. It was out. Now he would think of her the way he thought of the other women he was rumored to squire around town. The only difference would be that he would have to squire her in secrecy. After all, she was a married woman with no intention of disrupting her tidy, humdrum life. Her reputation was not to be a subject for gossip.

  The wary look was back in the doctor’s eyes. He had to say something to this foolish woman who was so bent on seducing him. Good God, she must be old enough to be his mother, or if not his mother, his aging aunt. He didn’t want to humiliate her, and yet he didn’t want her to pester him by calling him to the house for unnecessary house calls. He took his medical practice seriously and would continue to do so. If there was one thing he would never do, it was to dally around with a married woman. Especially this woman. His tastes ran more to the lush, the soft, and the mature younger woman. A woman like the beautiful stage actress Fallon Michels. The tea, he had to get out of the tea; but first he had to see the child who was ill. Perhaps an idea would come to him while he was practicing his profession. A little help from the Almighty wouldn’t hurt either.

  “I know you want to kiss me as much as I want you to, but you’re right. This is neither the time or the place. While we have tea, we can discuss it,” Anne said coyly. The doctor winced as he watched the woman open the door to the nursery.

  Good God, what had he gotten himself into? He couldn’t think about that now. He had a patient to consider and an examination to perform. He looked around the pleasant room and knew that if he ever had children, he would have a nursery just like it. Bright and vibrant colors were everywhere. His eyes went to the young woman with the wide eyes. He stared at her for a moment, letting his eyes take in her entire being. She was beautiful. When he realized his stare was becoming obvious to her as well as to Mrs. Powers, he walked over to the bed and smiled down at the tousled-haired child.

  “Your mother tells me your name is Mary. Mary is a very pretty name for such a pretty little girl. I do adore red curls.” Turning around, he motioned for Mrs. Powers and Callie to leave the room. “I’ll call you if I have need of your help. For now I want to be alone with my patient.”

  “But I—” Callie said hoarsely.

  “Didn’t you hear the doctor, Callie? He wants us to wait outside. We must do as he wishes. You of all people should want what’s best for Mary since you’re responsible for her illness. Now come along and let the doctor examine Mary.”

  Callie stepped into the hall with Mrs. Powers. She was confused and worried. Worried that the doctor would immediately discover Mary’s deafness, confused that Mrs. Powers would again entertain the dark stranger Callie had seen her kissing. And then there was the surprised recognition on Mary’s face when the doctor stepped into the nursery. What did it mean?

  Dr. Margolis stared at Mary. It wasn’t his imagination. She was frightened out of her wits. The little girl in the bed was taking her cue from her companion who was just as frightened. What had he stumbled upon here? He would have wagered his entire medical career that the child had nothing more than a stomach ache if she had anything at all. This particular house call was nothing more than a way for the amorous Mrs. Powers to—he had to do something to wipe the fright from the child’s eyes.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. “Your friend—she is your friend, isn’t she?—will be right back.” Mary nodded. “Good, now tell me where you have pain.” Mary pointed to her stomach and pulled the bed clothes higher. Her gaze was so intent the doctor felt unnerved. Good Lord, how could she stare at him like that and not even blink? He felt nonplussed as the child tried to burrow deeper into the mound of pillows behind her back.

  “Let’s take a look at your throat. Stick out your tongue and say, aaah.” Mary did as ordered and waited with wide eyes for the doctor’s next words. “Your throat seems clear enough. Let’s take a look at your ears, and then we’ll work our way down to your stomach.” At the doctor’s words Mary jerked back so violently the doctor lost his tongue depressor in the bed covers and had to rummage for it. He was stunned at the child’s reaction. So far, she had not uttered a word. There was more here than met the eye “Would you rather I checked your stomach? You don’t want me looking in your ears, do you?” Purposely he turned his back and kept a running conversation with the child. “Well, do you agree with what I said or not?” he asked casually.

  Mary’s eyes went from puzzled to frightened. She shrugged.

  “You can do better than that. You’re a big girl, and big girls answer when they’re spoken to. I cannot help you get well if you won’t talk to me and tell me what’s wrong. I have to check everything when someone is sick. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you, and I’ll keep that promise.”

  Mary’s flat, toneless voice startled the doctor. “My stomach hurts, not my ears.”

  “But you didn’t object when I wanted to look at your throat. Your throat doesn’t have anything to do with your stomach, either. Do you have an ear ache and didn’t tell your mother?”

  Mary shook her head. She watched as the doctor leaned over the side of the bed to remove something from his medical bag. He spoke loudly, almost shouting, and then swiveled quickly in time to catch the child trying to regain her position in the bed. He sighed loudly.

  “I feel better,” Mary said, drawing away from him.

  “I believe you,” Dr. Margolis said softly. “You don’t like doctors, is that it?”

  Mary said nothing, her gaze blunt and direct.

  “All right, let’s take a look at your stomach. Tell me as I touch it if you have any pain or if it just feels tender. Can you do that?”

  The relief in Mary’s defiant eyes was all the doctor needed to confirm his diagnosis. He was at a loss to understand why Mrs. Powers hadn’t mentioned the child’s hearing problem. Was it possible that she was unaware of Mary’s problem? What to do, how to proceed? What to say aloud, what to keep to himself? “Everything seems all right. I think, little lady, that you just had a mild upset stomach. Stay in bed the rest of the day and look at your picture books. Tomorrow you’ll be good as new. Now,” he said jovially, “that wasn’t all that bad, was it?”

  Mary shook her head and again pulled the covers up to her chin. Her intense gaze never wavered. Clearly this was something he should discuss with Mr. Powers, and he would do so the first chance he got. Of course, he was going to have to mention it and question Mrs. Powers. Tea then was essential.

  Mary watched the doctor close his medical bag with a loud snap. His casual words didn’t fool her for a minute. He knew or at least suspected that she had a problem with her ears, and it was her fault. If only Callie had been permitted to stay in the room, things might be different.

  “Is your Papá away on business or at his office?” A spark of hope flared in Mary’s small chest. Did that mean he would talk to her father instead
of her mother? Her hope was short-lived. She had no idea when her father would return. She was forced to shrug her shoulders. Callie said she read in Mr. Kenyon’s newspaper that tests were given to people with hearing problems at a clinic on the other side of town. Eye examinations too, for spectacles. It had been a wild idea on Callie’s part to enlist the aid of Hugh MacDuff to drive them to the clinic for Mary to be examined secretly. That had been her plan, and Mary had willingly agreed until the following day when Callie reported on the sequel to the story that said minor children had to be accompanied by their parents.

  Callie was becoming more and more worried about her problem, she could tell. She was regretting the decision she had made not to tell her parents. Over and over she kept saying, “What if a doctor can fix your ears?” Four separate times Callie had asked to be released from her promise. Each time Mary had been adamant. Lately Callie hadn’t asked. Lately Callie appeared to have problems of her own.

  “You lie there and rest now for the rest of the day. Tomorrow you’ll be up and everything will be fine,” Dr. Margolis whispered. Again Mary nodded.

  Living in a soundless world must be hell, the doctor thought as he rolled down his shirt sleeves. No sounds of laughter, no birds singing. Never to hear beautiful music. He knew that with hearing loss the other senses were honed to a sharpness almost beyond belief. What he wanted to know, needed to know, was whether Mrs. Powers knew of the child’s problem. If so, why hadn’t she mentioned it? True, she had other things on her mind, like finding ways to seduce him in the middle of the afternoon. He struggled with his conscience as he slipped into his coat and smiled down at the anxious child. Much too anxious. Too frightened. The companion was frightened too. Was she protecting the little one? If so, why? He hated questions with no answers. The best and only thing he could do was try to find out from Mrs. Powers what was wrong with Mary. He felt no guilt about his decision not to speak out to the child’s mother. The problem wasn’t an emergency from the looks of things. Since he hadn’t actually physically examined the child’s ears, there was no need to mention it at all. But he couldn’t leave this house without knowing. Later, when the time was right, he could decide what to do about it.