All in Good Time (The Gilded Legacy)

by Maureen Lang

  With little more than a glance toward the room behind them, Dessa waited to see what Liling would do. She quietly closed the door, then tore down the corridor to the farthest room opposite. From beneath a generous sleeve, she withdrew a key and inserted it into the lock before Dessa had caught up to her.

  Frantic whispering followed. A small whimper. Then Liling emerged, tugging a smaller girl behind. Dessa rushed to follow—only to stop abruptly at the sound of a shout behind them. Not from the man who’d shown her here, but from another, bolder voice at the base of the stairway.

  A glance over her shoulder sent her heart skating with terror. A man three times her own width, half again taller than Dessa, yelled wildly. He held a tray, but just as he looked about to set it aside, a crash erupted behind him and the tray fell to the floor in a clatter of broken porcelain.

  Something had come through one of the windows from the street. A candle that started an instant fire. And yet—not a fire. All smoke, but no flames. Then a moment later, a crash at another window, and another smoke candle spewed a cloud of gray. The man downstairs coughed and sputtered, going from one to the other, attempting to quench the bellows of fog.

  For one blurry moment Dessa stood immobile, until Liling spoke into her ear.

  “Follow!”

  Dessa turned to join the fleeing girls as more voices erupted—that of the man who’d shown Dessa the way, along with a woman’s voice. Dessa paid no heed. Liling pulled Mei Mei, who stumbled once and then again.

  Liling opened yet another door, this one to a narrow, nondescript stairway. When Mei Mei tripped, Dessa grabbed for her tunic. It ripped, but the girl did not fall.

  New clamor met them in what appeared to be a kitchen, but Liling neither hesitated nor answered the cries around them. She ran as if the devil himself were behind them—and Dessa was nearly convinced that he was.

  Outside, the sun was blindingly bright, and Dessa could barely make out the shapes in front of her, with Liling leading the way to an alley. She heard rapid steps behind them and more yelling in a language she was glad she did not understand. With Mei Mei stumbling yet again, Dessa picked up the girl’s other arm, and together she and Liling pulled Mei Mei along at a frantic pace.

  Dessa knew the way and knew, too, that Liling depended on her to take the lead now that she’d gotten them out of the opium house. The wisdom of the route quickly made itself apparent: there might have been a more direct path to their destination, but taking gangways and extra turns made it easier to lose their pursuers.

  Around one last corner and through one more gangway, then Dessa let go of Mei Mei long enough to throw herself at a familiarly scratched and scarred wooden door. Thankfully it opened as easily as she expected, and the three of them piled into the smallest parlor Dessa had ever seen.

  Slamming the door behind them, Dessa put a finger over her mouth, willing the two girls to be quiet.

  All three of them were breathing so heavily Dessa knew she couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to, and she guessed the others felt the same. She looked around. She’d never been inside a crib before, not even to help with a delivery. Any girl that far along in a pregnancy would’ve had to give up such a place, even one as shabby as this.

  The parlor held two chairs and a small table, leaving room for little else. There might have been a window once, judging from the outline of unmatched brick on the front wall. That was the only design on any of the otherwise-unadorned walls. Behind them was a plain, colorless curtain—bleached with age and wear to a sort of gray-white—that divided this room from another. It was hooked aside so Dessa could see the other room was empty but for the inevitable bed.

  Dessa regained even breathing first and left the locked door without a word. She passed through the curtained partition, searching beneath the bed for the parcel Nadette said she would leave there—a parcel Dessa herself had provided from the charity box. Two petite dresses designed for Western women.

  The girls received them silently, as if still too afraid to make a sound. Liling pulled off her far finer apricot robe and donned the larger of the two plain cotton garments. A moment later, Mei Mei did the same. But before letting Dessa take their Chinese robes to fold them inside the paper sack, Liling pointed to the design on Mei Mei’s, saying something to her sister.

  Then they both burst into tears and clung to each other.

  “Can you tell me what you said?” Dessa gently inquired when the sisters parted. “If it isn’t too personal?”

  Liling raised a shaking hand to wipe away the tears on her smooth cheeks. “Personal? Yes. But I share with you.” She pointed again to the design on the blue robe Mei Mei had worn, of expertly sewn leaves entwined in a way Dessa would enjoy replicating. “Sacrificial robe. The waterweed—seaweed—means purity. Now Mei Mei will not be sacrificed because of greed.”

  No matter how many moments of fear and horror Dessa had endured that afternoon, each one was worth it to see the happiness on the faces of the girls in front of her. Both of them were indeed striking. Pure creamy skin, shiny black hair, each with a long and slender neck. And their faces, though different—Liling’s was softly rounder, her forehead not so high—both had brows that gently curved above eyes that were dark yet bright with an unfathomable depth.

  The change of clothing for the girls helped to disguise them but was not enough. “Do you mind if we change the style of your hair?” she asked Liling.

  The girl elbowed her sister to pull down her hair from its traditional bun, as she herself was doing. Without a comb, the new styles were anything but perfect, but with Dessa’s help Liling fashioned her hair and her sister’s into more Western fashions: Liling with a braid pinned just above her forehead and Mei Mei with two braids, each looped at the side, as befitting a girl so young.

  Finally Dessa removed her hat and untied her scarf, wishing she’d thought to bring along two. She handed the scarf to Mei Mei and the hat to Liling.

  “Your crib?” Liling asked as she put the hat on.

  Dessa shook her head.

  “How you know it empty?”

  “Nadette delivers laundry here,” Dessa said with a burst of unexpected admiration for the young expert who’d devised the escape. “She knows the girl and asked to use it this afternoon. She probably thinks Nadette wanted to make some money for herself. I suppose you know it was Nadette who threw in the smoke candles to help us escape. She knew she couldn’t be at the windows and then reach the kitchen door in time to guide you here. That’s why I came to help.”

  Dessa then looked at Mei Mei, who appeared so tired that Dessa wished they were already back at Pierson House. “Do you speak any English, Mei Mei?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “She understands,” Liling answered, “but is afraid to speak.”

  Dessa patted Mei Mei’s hand. “I hope you won’t be afraid anymore. I want to make sure you’re safe.”

  Liling studied Dessa. “You were in great danger today. Why did you do this? Two people not even of your kind?”

  Dessa smiled. “What is my kind? I’ve never quite fit anywhere my whole life. I don’t think I have a kind, but I will, in heaven.”

  “So you do it for your God?”

  Dessa nodded.

  “Then I thank you,” Liling said.

  “And your God,” Mei Mei added.

  They needed to leave the crib before sunset, when the girl who rented the two rooms was expected to return for her usual working hours. Before setting out, Dessa gave the sisters detailed directions to Pierson House should they somehow become separated, quickly adding she didn’t think that likely. She assured them they didn’t have far to go.

  Just as the sun slipped behind the mountains, Dessa sneaked the girls into Pierson House by way of the back door, only to see Nadette with Remee in the kitchen—both of them sullen with tension over what had likely been a harsh and recent exchange of words.

  Nadette was the first to her feet, a smile bursting through whatever vexation
she’d felt a moment earlier. “You made it just fine!” She hugged both the girls, welcoming them as Remee looked on in disgust.

  Remee appeared about to speak, her lips opened with an accompanying scowl, but Dessa aimed a censuring look her way. “Will you help me with dinner, Remee? It must be something quick; we haven’t time to cook. It’s been a trying day, so I want an early dinner to let the girls get some rest.”

  The truth was, she hoped to get them upstairs to the middle bedroom as soon as possible. It was small, private—and offered only a single, heavily curtained window overlooking the side of the house. No one would see them up there, from the front or the back, particularly if they kept the curtain drawn.

  Remee told her Mr. Dunne hadn’t been around since noon, that he’d said he was going to try for a new job tonight and likely wouldn’t be back for dinner. Dessa took that as confirmation that she’d done the right thing; she wasn’t yet sure they should trust Mr. Dunne.

  No one spoke after that, not even Nadette, who was the only one to show any happiness. Remee stayed sulky, and when Jane joined them she was cautious around the newcomers, making no attempt to lift the cloud of concern that hovered. The girls themselves looked fearful, and Liling jumped when Remee dropped a plate. Liling let her sister sit close enough to hang on to her hand, both of them glancing often at the door.

  Dessa wished she could convince them they were safe, but even as she drew the curtains that hung over the windows on each side of the door to the porch, she knew any promises of security would be hollow. How could she share with anyone else what she did not have?

  One thing she did know for sure, and took comfort in: the hours of this night would be far different for Mei Mei than they would have been had Nadette not come forward.

  But the satisfaction did not settle in Dessa’s breast for long. After dinner, Nadette left, taking with her the only smile to be found. Everyone else seemed eager to go upstairs. Remee went first, and Dessa guessed Jane wished she could follow, except she’d volunteered to do the dishes since she hadn’t helped with the preparation. Dessa didn’t blame them for wanting to disappear. Perhaps they sought another escape, this one from that lingering cloud of fear permeating the room.

  “I’ll take you upstairs, girls,” Dessa said to Liling and Mei Mei. “Come along.”

  Dessa provided sleeping gowns and filled the water basins in their room. Then she went to her own room to pray, but, feeling alone instead of comforted, her fears only multiplied.

  Dessa returned downstairs. She helped Jane with the rest of the dishes, afterward watching her go up the stairs. Then Dessa walked from room to room. She made sure the doors were locked tight and all the curtains drawn. She peered out from a corner of each window just to be sure all was quiet. Finally, she took up a vigil in the dark at the parlor window. And she prayed.

  30

  HENRY SAT in his most comfortable chair in the privacy of his library, a room full of books that had helped him pass more than a few lonely nights. Yet he felt little comfort. This Saturday night had been like countless others; he’d eaten whatever Mrs. Gio had put before him. As usual, it pleased his senses and filled his stomach, but the passage of yet another meal alone left him wanting.

  He reread a line of the book in his hand, one he’d recently begun: Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Asked to tell of Hyde, one of the characters said: “He is not easy to describe. There is something wrong with his appearance; something displeasing, something downright detestable. I never saw a man I so disliked, and yet I scarce know why. He must be deformed somewhere; he gives a strong feeling of deformity, although I couldn’t specify the point. . . .”

  Henry slammed the book shut. A deformity of the spirit might be what Hyde suffered, but if so, it was precisely Henry’s condition as well. Why else had he done what he’d done all those years ago and let it get the best of his entire life? Little had he known that his youthful impatience, his lack of trust in himself to work hard and earn his way honestly and slowly, would ruin him forever.

  He stood, abandoning all effort to pass the time with a book, no matter how interesting. Despite the fact that tomorrow night at this time the entire house would be lit and full of polite guests, there was nothing for Henry to do tonight. The event, as always, had been placed in the capable hands of his butler, Mr. Barron, and Mrs. Gio. A dozen deliveries had been accepted that week, all in preparation for a meal that would accommodate twenty guests, the maximum number his dining room could comfortably hold. Already cloths draped various tables throughout the rooms as well as ornamental niches in the hallways, ready to accept the dozens of flower arrangements that would arrive in the morning to fill and warm Henry’s cavernous home.

  It was too early for Henry to go to bed. Perhaps he would take a walk. Fresh air now might help him sleep later.

  But he made it no farther than the front hall before a knock at the door called his attention. Dismissing Barron of his duty—he saw the man even now hurrying from behind the butler’s pantry in the nearby hall—Henry opened the door himself.

  It came as no surprise to find Tobias there. Henry opened the door wide, about to welcome him in—glad for the company—when he saw that his uncle wasn’t alone.

  The slight shadow beside Tobias’s wide and tall one was easily missed in the dim light of evening. But there she was. Henry’s mother.

  They stared at one another for what could have been too long a moment, or perhaps too short. Henry didn’t know which, he was so lost in a rush of emotion. Two years suddenly seemed far too long, especially when preceded by years of scant contact. Knowing it had been Henry’s decision, and his alone, cast a burden onto his shoulders he hadn’t planned to face. Not tonight.

  “I’m sorry.”

  How strange a greeting that might have seemed, but to his mother it appeared welcome. She raised a petite, gloved hand to her chin, and the moment he saw her tremble he stepped closer, ushering her inside with one hand around her shoulders and the other finding one of her hands.

  “Come in, Mother, come in. Sit down. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  “No, no,” she said, her voice more tremulous than her fingers. Beneath his embrace he felt the quiver of her slight frame and wished—not for the first time—that he hadn’t been such a fool. Especially since his father had died some eight years ago. How alone had his mother been? As alone as Henry?

  “Come into the parlor, will you? Both of you? It’s comfortable in there, with the windows open. The breeze is pleasant.”

  His mother, still holding his hand as if she were as reluctant as he to let go, looked around. To Henry’s shame, she had never before seen his home. He’d never invited her. He wished the flowers had already been delivered, because she saw it now for what it was: half-decorated, void of any personal touch. Clean, orderly, but stark. Cold. The single portrait of her father looked as lonely as Henry’s life.

  A maid appeared—Ulla, Mrs. Gio’s niece, who had been brought in for the party. She offered tea, but the moment she left to retrieve it, and just as soon as he helped his mother to a settee, Henry went to the table at the side of the room to pour himself a glass of water. The others declined, but he was glad to have the cool glass in his grip.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I was coming early,” his mother said. “But Tobias seemed to think it would be a good idea if I stayed here tonight, and that I might be of help with the party tomorrow.”

  “The staff—” Henry began, but stopped himself. He smiled, taking a seat near his mother. “That would be most appreciated, Mother. Thank you.” Then a warm thought struck him. “And you’ll come to church with me in the morning, of course.”

  Her mother raised rounded eyes his way. “Church? I didn’t know you . . .”

  “I only recently began attending again.” Then Henry smiled wider. He knew he was on the right road, and now his mother’s presence allowed him hope of forgiveness. But he still had much to prove—to himself and to others. “To be hones
t, it’s been very recent. Though you may not yet believe it, something has changed in my life, something that makes me regret very much the way I’ve treated you. I hope you’ll forgive me, and that I can be a better son to you.”

  She held out a hand that still trembled, and the sparkle of a tear caught the light in her eyes. “You’ll have to forgive me too, then, Son. The road between your house and mine travels both ways. I could have been more diligent in using that road myself.”

  “No, Mother. I was the one who pushed you away.” Henry set aside the glass. He glanced nervously from his mother to his uncle, uncertain how to explain, or if an explanation was needed. Would revealing his past help her to understand, or would the knowledge of what he’d done only make her ashamed of him? Make her do the pushing away this time?

  “Tell her, Henry. It’s time.”

  Tobias’s words reached Henry loud and clear, almost as if his own conscience had somehow spoken them for all to hear. Henry gazed at him, his surprise turning to confusion.

  Slowly, without another word, Tobias pulled something from his pocket. That old brown handkerchief.

  But no, Henry saw now that it was cut too roughly, frayed at the edges as if it had been torn and not neatly sewn. It had not been made for any gentleman. It was tattered, too, or so it seemed when Henry caught a glimpse of a hole.

  Tobias took the material and held it up in both hands, revealing what Henry had guessed. It wasn’t a handkerchief at all. But what he slowly suspected it to be made his head spin.

  It was a mask—one Henry recognized.

  “What’s that you have, Uncle Tobias?” The question, entirely unnecessary, was meant to buy Henry some time. But it wasn’t enough. No words, no explanation, no excuses came to mind.

  “It was yours once, Henry. Do you recall? I found it the day of the robbery, when I chased after you and the wind blew it from your hand.”

  “I—” He didn’t know what he’d been about to say, especially with such a confident start. A worthless, untrue denial? So he stopped. He nodded.