Cinders to Satin

by Fern Michaels

  “People are discussing your background, or lack of it. And let me tell you they have been most charitable up to this point. It won’t get better, it can only get worse. If you have any feeling for my cousin, leave this house. You aren’t helping him, you’re hurting him. Why, just yesterday Kevin told me he wouldn’t go to the next political meeting unless you were gone from this house. He can’t hold his head up anymore. I find it rather difficult myself,” Bridget said cruelly.

  “I . . . I didn’t . . . what I mean is, I had no idea. . .” Callie whispered.

  “I figured as much. When you spend all your time doing what you do, I suppose there isn’t much time to worry about what the other people think. If you have any real feelings for Byrch, you’ll leave as soon as possible. Everyone, with the exception of Jasper Powers, is afraid to back Byrch because of you and the scandal that will ensue. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Darcy, I understand.”

  “For some reason I thought you would put up a fight.”

  “I only want what’s best for Byrch,” Callie managed in a stricken voice.

  “If that’s true, then see to it that you heed my advice. Good day, Miss James.”

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Darcy.” Callie managed to choke out the words before fleeing upstairs.

  Edward sat down on his rocker with a loud thump. By God, there were some people who should have been strangled at birth, and Mrs. Darcy was one of them. Instinct told him not to go to Miss Callie. She wouldn’t want him to see the shame she was feeling. He had to respect that. Tonight was going to be a hellish circus. He wondered how much luck he would have if he asked for the evening off.

  Callie sat down on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. It seemed that the world was closing in on her from all sides. Never once in all the time she had been here had she thought about Byrch’s political career and how she might be harming it. She could see the truth in Bridget’s words. But if it was true, why was Byrch so insistent on making her uphold her end of the bargain? Didn’t he care? Surely he wouldn’t sacrifice his political ambitions just to make her miserable. Edward. Why hadn’t Edward said something? Because it wasn’t his place to say anything. Why did she have so many problems? Why couldn’t she see beyond the end of her nose?

  Now there was no choice; she had to leave, bargain or no bargain. The thought was so horrendous she threw herself across the bed and sobbed.

  In the hallway Edward opened the linen-closet door and stared with unseeing eyes at the contents. Only his ears picked up the heart-rending sobs coming through the closed door. There was nothing to do and nothing to say. He had never felt so helpless in his entire life.

  Exhausted with her crying, Callie washed her face at the washstand in the corner. How puffy her eyes looked. It didn’t make any difference what she looked like. Who would care if she spent the entire day wailing her head off? No one. Oh, Mum, I wish you were here.

  Maybe she should write a letter to her mother. She had to work on her column, but how could she when she had all this misery on her mind? She should also start packing so she could leave as soon as possible. How long would that take? Fifteen minutes. The question was, should she leave before or after Byrch came home. Her heart told her she needed to see him one more time. Her head told her she had a bargain to uphold. But that was all before Bridget’s visit and her cruel accusations.

  She was leaving, that’s all there was to it. And as long as she was leaving, she might as well change jobs. Thirty dollars was a lot better than fifteen if she was going to support herself. For the life of her she couldn’t remember if it was Horace Greeley who offered the thirty dollars or the other newspaper. She would ask Edward; he would remember. She could always count on Edward.

  Oh, Byrch, what happened to us? If only I didn’t love you so. Her face flamed. She didn’t know loving someone could hurt so terribly. True, she had been hurt by Rossiter, but it was nothing compared to the pain she was suffering now.

  Drawers slammed, and doors banged as Callie dragged out her clothes. She hated them now, hated them because Bridget had helped her select them and Byrch had paid for them. Choice was the one thing she didn’t have right now. It was either take the clothes or go naked. Clothes covered shame and guilt; she would take the clothes.

  Tired of staring into the linen closet, Edward turned to head back down the stairs when the first sounds of slamming drawers jarred his ears. He recognized the sounds. She was leaving. Perhaps he should knock on her door and talk to her. But what good would it do? Mrs. Darcy was a busybody of the first order, but she did have a point. It was the way she had gone about it that was all wrong. There wasn’t a thing he could say to Miss Callie. Whatever she did now was going to be strictly her decision and Mr. Kenyon’s.

  Edward puttered in the kitchen all afternoon, burning his finger on the hot handle of a pot, spilling freshly shelled peas all over his clean floor, and baking a cake that listed so far to one side that no amount of frosting could help. He chucked the cake, along with his dustpan full of peas, in the trash and set about making himself a cup of tea, lacing it liberally with brandy. It bothered him little that his employer might take him to task for drinking on the job. At times a man needed something a little stronger than tea to get through a trying time. He needed a little rest. The leg of lamb was roasting nicely, as were the potatoes. He had the situation in hand. Still, he felt guilty as he sat down to enjoy his tea. He felt even more guilty when he felt a light hand on his shoulder.

  “Miss Callie, I guess I must have dozed off. Is everything all right?” Poor thing, her eyes were red-rimmed, and he knew that no powder in the world could cover the bruised circles beneath her eyes. She was dressed in a fawn-colored afternoon dress with copper-colored ruching at the neck and sleeves. She looked, Edward decided, every inch a sophisticated woman of the world. She appeared calm; there was no noticeable trembling in her hands as she set about making herself a cup of tea. Too calm was Edward’s first thought. Too controlled.

  “Don’t get up, Edward. The lamb and potatoes are fine. I checked on them. I’m making you a cup of tea. I see that yours has grown cold. You barely touched it.”

  “Thank you, Miss Callie.”

  “Edward, which paper was it that offered me twice my salary? For the life of me, I can’t remember. I do hope it was Mr. Greeley. I’m going to be leaving here as soon as possible, and I’m going to take the job that pays the most money.”

  Edward swallowed hard, his lunch working its way up to his throat. “I do believe it was the other paper, not Mr. Greeley. Is that wise, Miss Callie? I don’t mean to pry into your affairs, but it would seem to me that you are doing so well now it would be a shame to disturb what is almost a perfect situation for you. You could lose readership with another paper. And another paper might not be as kind to you as the Clarion. I do hope you have given this matter a lot of thought. Money, contrary to belief, is not the answer to everything.”

  “In this case it is,” Callie said bitterly. “I’m going to check it out first thing tomorrow morning. I wish someone had told me more about Byrch’s political aspirations. I didn’t think. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that this situation could harm him politically. I suppose I thought that it was so far down the road that I would be long gone before he ever ran for any kind of office. I’m not knowledgeable about the ins and outs of politics.

  I see now that a person has to be groomed and free of any kind of scandal before he enters the political wing. Already I’ve hurt him.”

  Edward accepted her criticism. “Miss Callie, it’s not, nor has it ever been, my place to discuss Mr. Kenyon’s affairs with anyone. I hope you understand that and don’t take it personally.”

  “I do understand, Edward. You have your place, and I have mine. The problem is you stayed within your boundaries and I stepped out of mine. It seems to be a problem I have.”

  “Miss Callie, I think you’re viewing this situation too personally.” If
he could just keep talking and keep her talking, perhaps some idea would blossom in his head with regard to the damnable letters. “I will say this to you. Mr. Kenyon is a very wise, astute newspaperman. Politically he’s a novice, but he’s learning. Why don’t you trust him to know what he’s about? Making radical changes like you’re contemplating right now might hurt him even more. I do hope you plan to discuss this with him. Listen to his point of view and then make your decision. Are you packed?”

  “Yes,” Callie muttered over the rim of her cup. “I think I will go out to the garden. Don’t send Byrch out. I’ll talk to him after dinner. There’s no sense riling him up before he eats. You know how he gets indigestion if something upsets him. I don’t mean that I’ll upset him . . . yes, that’s exactly what I mean. . . we’ll wait. We’ll wait, Edward,” Callie said firmly.

  “Very well, Miss Callie. Your shasta daisies are beautiful. I just happened to notice the lavender ones this morning. You do have a way with the garden.”

  A pity I don’t have a way with people, Callie thought. This would be her last walk in the garden, her last meal in the house on St. Luke’s Place, her last everything as far as this chapter of her life was concerned. Perhaps she should spend the time writing to Peggy. Another dumb letter from her dumb daughter in America. What advice would Peggy give her? She wished she knew.

  Dinner to get through. Byrch loved lamb. Byrch loved food. Byrch loved flowers and her vegetables. Byrch loved Edward and this house. Byrch loved everything but her. Why? Was she so ugly? Was she so—She whirled and headed back up the garden path, her heels clicking on the flagstone walkway that she had weeded the day before. No blade of grass would dare to creep between the stones. The curving walkway had never been so neat, so well trimmed. It looked like something out of a picture book, Edward had said.

  Callie fought back the tears as she stared around at the colorful garden. She was proud of it. She was proud of her job at the paper What Edward said was true, the paper had been good to her; they had given her a job when she needed it most. But to stay on and be in contact with Byrch was more than she could bear. If only she could make a clean break and still work for the paper. She would have to find a way, that’s all there was to it.

  As she neared the back porch of the house, she sensed that Byrch was home. She felt unseen eyes on her. Did Edward discuss her with Byrch? Would Edward remember his place and not discuss what they talked about earlier? Maybe it would be better if Byrch knew what she was planning. This way—no, that was wrong, he shouldn’t know. Surprise would be on her side. It would give her an edge when it came to dealing with Byrch. She couldn’t allow him to browbeat her, to snap and snarl as he always did.

  Dinner was grim. Byrch found the delicious food sticking in his throat. Something was brewing, something he wasn’t going to like, he could feel it in his bones. One look at Edward’s pitying face convinced him that all hell was about to break loose. Callie looked overly dressed, like she was going some place special. Normally she wore light colors, “daytime wear” she called it. She was definitely dressed up, and she looked stunningly beautiful. Perhaps she was a little pale, but other than that he knew he had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. And she was his. Almost. Temporarily. Goddamn it, she wasn’t his. That was the problem. He knew he would sell his soul to the devil if she would just raise her head and smile at him. He would probably curl up and die if she said she loved him.

  Over coffee in the living room Callie squared her shoulders and stared straight at Byrch. “I have to talk to you, Byrch. It’s important.”

  Here it comes, he thought. It was going to be awesome. He could feel his hands close into fists. Callie noticed the movement and swallowed hard.

  “Your cousin, Mrs. Darcy, was here to see me this morning.” There, that was a start. Her voice was firm, almost emotionless. She was stating facts, cold, hard facts that didn’t matter to her. “She said my being here was going to hurt you politically. She said I was an embarrassment to you and people were starting to talk. She was quite blunt about her opinions of me and what I was doing to you and how if I stayed here it would only hurt you. She’s right Byrch. It’s my fault, I didn’t know you were so far ahead in your . . . in your political aspirations. It simply never occurred to me. I suppose I thought your making the switch from the newspaper business to politics was so far down the road that . . . what I mean is I thought I would be long gone before you decided to enter. . . it was my mistake,” Callie said flatly.

  “You make a lot of those, don’t you?” Byrch said just as tonelessly.

  For a moment Callie had difficulty understanding Byrch’s words. When she finally comprehended the meaning, she flushed a rosy crimson.

  Byrch stared at Callie’s flushed face. “Hrumph,” he snorted. So, he was right, he was her biggest mistake, and now she thought she found her out in his cousin Bridget. Damn Bridget. One of these days he was going to wring her fat neck and laugh while he was doing it.

  “To my regret, yes,” Callie said coolly. How arrogant he was, how cold he could be. It was almost as if he had known what she was going to say, as if he and Bridget had arranged her little meeting this morning. Nothing surprised her anymore where this man was concerned. He had the power to hurt her, and each verbal thrust wounded her to the quick. “So I’ll be leaving here in the morning. I plan to speak with Mr. Greeley about his job offer. You won’t have to concern yourself about me any longer.”

  Byrch’s stomach churned, and the clenched fists wanted to beat out at something. “Aren’t you forgetting something? We have an agreement, and your time isn’t up yet. A bargain is a bargain.”

  She wouldn’t cry. She refused to give him that satisfaction. A bargain, that’s what he considered her, a damn bargain. “I’m prepared to give you all the money I have saved. I’ll be earning more, twice what I’m earning now, if I decide to take Mr. Greeley’s offer.” Lord, she hadn’t meant her voice to come out so desperate-sounding. How much money was the question. How much was a roll in the bedcovers worth? Would he insult her and put a price on it? Her teeth were clenched so tight she thought her jaw would crack.

  Bile rose in Byrch’s throat. Damn woman, she had all the answers. Well, she could answer him till hell froze over and he still wouldn’t let her go. Not now, not tomorrow, never. “You don’t have enough money to pay me, and we were all over that ground. The precedent has been set; we’re not dealing with money.”

  Callie shuddered. Such hatred was more than she could bear. “Are you saying my money isn’t good enough but my body is?” she managed to whisper.

  “That’s about the size of it, but don’t get any ideas that you’re something special. It’s more convenient this way.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, Byrch wanted to strangle himself. How could he have said such a mean, hateful thing to the woman he loved with his heart and soul? There must be a devil in him somewhere. A devil was making him do this. If Father Muldoon could hear him now, he wouldn’t bother to have him say a penance, he’d order him sent straight to hell with no stops at purgatory on the way. He hated himself as he watched Callie for her next move, her next reply.

  “Are you saying you won’t permit me to move out of this house tomorrow?” Callie asked. She refused to think about his words and their meaning, for it she did, she would fall apart right in front of him.

  “You’ve already ruined my reputation, so what does it matter now? And don’t for one minute think that Greeley is going to hire you. When he finds out you’re a woman, he’ll send you packing. So will that other paper you keep harping on. It’s only because of my stupid cousin that you have any job at all. Another thing, no matter what anyone else has told you, I do have the power to fire you. Believe that. I’ve been generous with you, but not any longer. You’re fired!”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, you’re fired. No more columns. No more anything. You can go upstairs and get ready. I’ll be up shortly.”

  Hot, scorching ange
r raced up Callie’s spine and spread out through her veins. “You can go to hell, Byrch Kenyon!” Callie sputtered. Enough was enough. He couldn’t fire her. By God, her job was all she had left.

  Byrch knew he had gone too far as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He stood by helplessly as Callie sprang to life. “You will not do this to me, do you hear? I will not allow it. It’s true, we have a bargain, and I’ll honor my end, but that’s all I’ll honor. No more, do you hear?”

  Before he could answer, Callie upended his favorite chair. In her frustration and fury she toppled the end tables, sending crystal figurines scattering into thousands of shards. Books seemed to have a life of their own as they took flight to land every which way. The tubs of greenery were suddenly without blooms and looked like beheaded seedlings.

  Byrch backed off a step and bumped into a trembling Edward. Both men inched their way into the dining room as Callie stalked them. “Do I or don’t I have a job?” she demanded hoarsely.

  Byrch finally found his tongue. By God, she was a hell cat. How could he have forgotten? “You just increased your debt to me. Now it’s six months. You’re in no condition to discuss anything right now. Do as I say and go to your room.”

  “Sir, may I remind you that silence is sometimes the better part of valor,” Edward whispered.

  “No!” Callie shouted. “Not till you answer me. Do I have a job or don’t I?”

  “Sir?” Edward pleaded as he noticed Callie gaining on them. Behind him was the dining-room wall.

  Sobs tore at Callie’s throat. “I hate you, Byrch Kenyon. I hate you and will always hate you!”

  “All right, all right,” Byrch said, attempting to soothe her. This was what he had been afraid of for a long time. She had finally exploded. How ironic that it had to be over a job. This job meant more to her than he ever could. He motioned for Edward to back up toward the kitchen. He followed slowly, his eyes on Callie. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. When she sat down on the one chair left standing, he changed direction and headed toward her. “You’re upset. Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nice warm bath. It will calm you.” His voice was not unkind.