“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “perhaps not.”
Before I could question this strange statement, the waiter arrived with our lunches and Pierce fell quiet.
Despite several attempts, I could not get him to discuss the matter further.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Despite my objections that I had no need for another evening dress, Mama had insisted I have a new gown made for our Christmas party. I was more than a little shocked when it arrived from the dressmaker Saturday morning, to discover several modifications to the design had been executed without my approval. The modest neckline I had chosen for the periwinkle-blue damassé silk-and-satin gown was now cut so low I feared I would be forced to stand bolt upright the entire evening or cause a scandal. Mama had also added—again without my knowledge—a full frill of cream-colored duchesse lace to circle the plunging décolletage, along with a train of cream brocaded satin. Neither of which, I'm sure I need not add, were my style. Investigating these changes, I discovered that Mama had requested them to be made the day after she invited Pierce to the soiree, with instructions to the dressmaker that the gown be delivered to our house the morning of the party, when it would be too late for me to object.
At least I could not complain about the way our ladies' maid, Hazel, dressed my hair. She was so rushed attending to Mama's and Celia's coiffures, as well as mine, that she was content to arrange my ebony locks into a simple cluster of curls atop my head, allowing the rest of my thick mane to hang in long tresses down my back. And for once she didn't argue with me about adorning my head with anything but a few sprigs of holiday flowers.
When I descended the stairs to help greet guests, my mind was in a turmoil. I had not seen or heard from Robert since the previous Tuesday evening when he, Samuel, George Lewis, and I discussed the recent spate of murders. Since then, I had vacillated over the wisdom of his attendance tonight. Given his illogical dislike for Pierce, I feared what might happen if he were forced to spend an entire evening with him in the same house. On the other hand, the thought of Robert sitting home alone in his dreary rooming house so close to Christmas made me feel heartless in the extreme.
I had no worries concerning Pierce's behavior; he would remain a gentleman however much Robert baited him. My hotheaded colleague, on the other hand, could be alarmingly unpredictable. If he precipitated a scene with Pierce during tonight's festivities, my mother would never forgive me.
It was Samuel's opinion that I was once again making mountains out of molehills. “they're grown men, Sarah,” he'd said earlier that afternoon. “They know how to behave.” I could only pray that he was right. Truly, my life at present was so full of life-and-death issues, I had no need for added complications, especially those of a romantic nature.
Celia and Charles came downstairs shortly after me. My sister-in-law looked lovely in a shaded emerald-green lampas gown, trimmed with faded gold satin. That she could look stylishly slender so soon after giving birth recently continued to amaze me.
I was relieved to have them by my side when the first guests to enter were my eldest brother Frederick—who is, to California's peril, a state senator—and his wife, Henrietta. Thankfully, they had left their unpleasant nine-year-old son, Freddy, at home. Unfortunately, they had brought their latest grievances concerning me with them.
“Sarah,” my eldest brother began, as soon as they had turned over their wraps to our butler, Edis. “I cannot believe Mother permitted you to show yourself in public tonight. The papers are full of your peccadilloes. This time you have gone too far!”
My sister-in-law Henrietta was wearing a gown in a shade of pale green which was not at all flattering to her sallow complexion. I knew by the cut and the quality of the material that the dress was costly. Why, I wondered, did the unfortunate woman insist on spending so much money on clothes which so ill suited her?
“You seem determined to bring this family to ruin,” she hissed, glancing around to ensure no other guests were close enough to overhear talk of her sister-in-law's latest scandal. “What possessed you to agree to defend yet another Chinaman? I would have thought you'd learned your lesson the last time you put us through such a humiliation. And to visit a—a—”
“A cathouse?” I offered serenely. “I believe that is how the Tattler described it. I must admit that I'm a bit surprised to learn that you have taken to reading the gossip journals.”
It was rewarding to see Henrietta's pasty complexion turn an almost pleasant shade of pink. She sputtered in an effort to find words sufficiently rancorous to describe her moral outrage.
My brother beat her to it, making no attempt to lower his own voice. “I am going to demand that Father do something about your conduct, Sarah. You are sullying not only my reputation, but his as well. If you refuse to behave like a proper young woman and marry—supposing, of course, you can find a decent man willing to accept you—then you should be placed in a nunnery, or at the very least settled in the country where you can no longer bring shame upon the family's good name.”
“Frederick! That is enough.”
We all turned to find Papa standing in the hallway, angrily regarding his eldest son. Behind him, our mother was looking in acute embarrassment at some guests who had gathered behind my brother and sister-in-law, awaiting their turn to enter the house.
“We will discuss this later,” Papa told Frederick in a low tone. He regarded me meaningfully. “I have not yet had an opportunity to speak to your sister, but rest assured, I will.”
Assuming a welcoming smile, he brushed past us to greet the new arrivals. With a scathing look in my direction, Mama followed. Taking advantage of their preoccupation, I slipped quietly into the kitchen where, given the hectic activity going on in the room, I was hardly welcome.
After nearly tripping our Irish maid, Ina Corks, who was bustling out the door carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres, I moved quickly out of the way. As I did, I spied our part-time gardener and handyman, Marco Ciatti, entering the kitchen from the back porch, a block of ice slung over his shoulder. Unable to tip his cap because of his heavy load, he nonetheless smiled cheerfully, and continued on into the scullery, where I presumed the ice would be cut or slivered depending on its intended use. Marco was frequently pressed into performing the odd chore here and there when our family entertained.
As I turned to leave the kitchen, I saw one of the maids attempting to tie Eddie Cooper's cravat. My mouth fell open at the sight of the young cabbie. He was so clean I hardly recognized him: face scrubbed, hands spotless, brown hair shining and neatly combed back from his face. Instead of his usual work clothes, the boy was attired in footman's dress livery, which, because it had been intended for another, taller young man who had canceled on us at the last moment, was far too large and hung loosely on his thin frame. Height, good looks, and a well-turned calf were the qualities most desired in a footman. Since Eddie had hardly any discernible calf muscles, I suggested to one of the maids that she use pins to fasten his white hose to his britches in order to hold them up.
Our family employed only one maid of all work, Ina Corks, a butler, a cook, and a ladies' maid. We had no full-time footmen or kitchen maids, but hired temporary servants whenever extra help was required. Eddie had initially seemed excited to be asked by Mama to replace the missing footman. Now, the lad looked pale, frightened, and very nervous. Despite the maid's continued entreaties for him to remain still, Eddie could not stop fidgeting.
“Here, Sally,” I said, “I'll take care of that.”
“I'm not sure I kin do this, Miss Sarah,” the boy told me anxiously.
“Of course you can, Eddie,” I said, straightening his tie. “You look very handsome. Just try not to act as if you're about to face a hangman's noose. No one is going to bite you, I promise.”
“But I ain't never done nothin' like this before,” he said. “What if I make a mistake, or drop somethin'?”
“Just take your time and be careful. Remember to say ‘yes, ma'am or si
r,’ and don't speak any more than is necessary. Cook will instruct you about which dishes to take out and where to place them on the table. I'm sure you're going to do just fine.”
Giving Eddie a reassuring pat on the shoulder, I exited the kitchen and returned to the front foyer. I was in time to see Pierce entering the house. He was carrying a small, beautifully wrapped box, as well as a lovely selection of cut winter flowers. He handed the bouquet to Mama, but kept the box.
“These are absolutely lovely,” I could hear her gushing. “Marie will put them in a vase.” I was surprised to realize that my mother was actually blushing. I was beginning to suspect that no woman, regardless of her age, was impervious to the man's charm!
“Pierce, you weren't supposed to bring presents,” I told him, after Mama turned to welcome more guests.
Without answering, he peered around, then leaned over and kissed me gently on the lips. When I started to protest, he raised his eyes, nodding toward the mistletoe hanging above our heads.
“It's an old Norse tradition, Sarah,” he explained, his dark eyes twinkling. “You wouldn't want to risk bad luck by ignoring it, would you?”
“Given that it's a famous Norse tradition, of course not.” To my surprise, I broke into laughter. It felt good, releasing me, if only for a brief time, from the heavy burden I felt resting upon my shoulders. “I'm happy to see you, Pierce, I truly am. But seriously, you weren't supposed to come bearing gifts.”
“I believe it's still a free country,” he said, and handed me the small gift box.
“Pierce, really, you—”
He placed a finger lightly over my lips. “Don't fuss, Sarah, just open the box.”
Moving to a more private space behind the stairs, I duly opened my gift. Inside, lying on a bed of black velvet, was a pair of beautiful silver earrings that gracefully depicted a tiny Chinese figure dressed in intricate robes, and holding a branch of some kind.
“Pierce, these are exquisite,” I said, moving out of our cubbyhole and holding them up to the light. “They look very old.”
“According to a Chinese antique dealer I know in Hong Kong, they date back to the Ming Dynasty.”
“The Ming—!” I stared at him, not sure I had heard him correctly. “But that means they could be more than two hundred years old.”
“My friend claims that they probably date to the sixteenth century. The Chinese regard the peach tree as a symbol of longevity and springtime. The peach tree of the gods was said to bloom once every three thousand years, and then it bore the fruit of eternal life. They also believe it wards off evil influences. Your earrings depict the god of longevity emerging from within a peach.”
“Pierce, I love them,” I said, a bit overwhelmed. “But it really is too much.”
“On the contrary,” he said, laughing. “Given your penchant for chasing after murderers and other dangerous characters, I thought a charm that guaranteed long life, and warded off evil spirits in the bargain, was a very practical gift.”
I started to protest again, then realized that I truly did love the earrings. “I'll cherish them always,” I said quietly. “It was very kind of you to think of me.”
His dark eyes became suddenly intense as he looked down at me. “Kindness has nothing to do with it, my dear Sarah. You're in my thoughts far more than I find comfortable.”
I'm sure my face would have betrayed me, if the light had not been so dim in our little corner. In truth, my whole body felt unexpectedly warm, despite the chill air blowing in through the front door as more guests entered the house. I was startled out of this delightful reverie when I heard my mother's voice calling my name.
“I, ah, had better go,” I stammered, feeling like an awkward schoolgirl.
He said nothing, but simply stood aside so that I might pass by him. As I did so, the front of my gown brushed against his chest, and he made a small sound in his throat. My eyes went to his face, but he already had his features under control. Swallowing hard, I quickly moved past him and out into the hall.
Standing at the door, looking embarrassed and out of place, was Robert. I reached him as he was handing his coat and hat to Edis. He was wearing the new suit I had helped him select two weeks ago, along with a colorful cravat which set off his rugged good looks, and was perfect for the holiday season. His thick, unruly red hair was, for the time being at least, combed neatly back from his forehead, and looked as if it had been drenched in pomade. I was mildly surprised to realize that he looked extremely handsome.
“Robert,” I said, smiling as I reached the door. “I'm happy to see you. Please, come in out of the cold.”
Upon entering, he happened to see the small jewelry box I still held in my hand. His dismay was evident.
“Sarah, you didn't say anything about gifts. I don't—That is, I didn't bring anything.”
“Nor were you expected to, Robert.” I started to place the box in one of the pockets I had the dressmaker include in all my business suits, then remembered that the formal gown I was wearing did not come equipped with such a handy appendage.
My mother seemed to understand my predicament and reached for the box. “I'll take care of this for you, my dear. Why don't you introduce Mr. Campbell to the rest of our guests and see that he receives some refreshment.”
I readily agreed and, taking Robert by the arm, walked him into the front parlor where the Christmas tree stood, and champagne, wine, and fruit punch were being circulated by several maids and our “footman,” Eddie. The boy was carrying a tray of champagne with such care and deliberation, you would have thought his life depended upon safely navigating it through the room.
“Good heavens,” Robert exclaimed, staring at the boy in considerable surprise. “Is that Eddie?”
“It is, indeed,” I answered, experiencing a feeling of pride. “He cleans up rather well, doesn't he?”
“Amazing,” said Robert. “Now, if he just doesn't open his mouth all may be well.”
Before I could reply, Pierce suddenly appeared, smiling as he blocked our forward progress into the room.
“Good evening, Robert,” he said politely, holding out his hand.
Almost reluctantly, Robert grasped the other man's hand and shook it. “Godfrey,” he acknowledged, his tone falling just short of sounding rude. “I should have known you'd be here.”
“I'm glad I didn't disappoint you then,” Pierce said.
Robert drew breath, no doubt to say something offensive, when I spoke first.
“Robert, this will not do. I trust you can bury your grievances against Pierce, whatever they may be, for I have no idea, and get along at least for this one evening. Please remember, we are here to celebrate the Christmas holiday.”
Robert continued to stare at Pierce for another long minute, then transferred his gaze to me.
“I apologize, Sarah,” he said evenly. “You are quite right, this is not an evening to quarrel.” He turned to Pierce, even managing a weak smile. “What do you say, Godfrey, shall we find some refreshment? I see yon lad has a tray of champagne. We should probably commandeer a glass before he trips over his own feet and drops the whole kit and caboodle.”
I was giving an inward sigh of relief, when I heard familiar voices coming from the foyer. I moved into the hall to see that the Tremaines had arrived, in company with the Reverend Mayfield. They were being greeted by Celia and my brother Charles.
Except for the two youngest children, the entire family had come, just as they had for Faith's birthday dinner. Reginald Tremaine and his wife, Faith, seemed in good spirits, while Major Tremaine appeared a bit subdued. David and his sister Melody—who looked lovely in a dark pink gown and dainty pink slippers—were also quiet as they handed Edis their coats, and I noticed that Melody went out of her way not to look at either parent. Obviously, she was upset with her father and stepmother for not allowing her to audition for Joseph Kreling. Judging from the looks Major Tremaine was directing at his son, it was clear that he shared his granddaughter's d
isappointment.
“Good evening,” I said, greeting the new arrivals. “Major Tremaine, Mr. and Mrs. Tremaine, Reverend Mayfield, I'm so pleased you could come. It's good to see you, Melody, David.”
“We're delighted to have been asked,” the younger Mr. Tremaine said, looking past me to the party, which by now was well under way.
“Miss Woolson,” said the rector, smiling at me. “It is very nice to see you again. I must tell you once more how much I appreciated you and your brother visiting me the day poor Deacon Hume was—” He came to an awkward stop, as if he could not bring himself to say the dreaded word.
“Yes, Reverend Mayfield,” I said quickly. “It was a most lamentable day. I'm happy if Samuel and I were able to offer you some small comfort.”
“Not small, Miss Woolson,” he protested. “No, no, indeed not. It was most kind of you both. Unusual, I assure you, for young people to take the trouble to pay a visit at such a trying time.”
“Why don't Charles and I take you inside?” Celia said to the pastor. With a gracious nod, she included Mr. and Mrs. Tremaine in this invitation. “There are some people I think you would enjoy meeting.”
When they left, Major Tremaine, Melody, and David remained behind. I led the way down the hall and into the library, closing the door behind us.
“Mr. Godfrey tells me that your parents refuse to allow you to audition for Mr. Kreling,” I said. “I'm truly sorry, Melody.”
Not surprisingly, the girl looked crestfallen. “I told Father I was willing to perform under a different name. No one need know that his daughter was singing on the stage. He just laughed and said I was being silly. He told me to put the idea out of my mind, that the theater was a fantasy world, not for real people with a standing to uphold in the community.”
“He assumes it is just a passing fancy,” David put in. “He can't imagine Melody is serious about pursuing a career. Grandpapa tried to get Father to change his mind, but it made no difference. He simply won't listen.”
Scandal On Rincon Hill Page 31