by Michelle Cox
“A black sheep?” Henrietta said incredulously. “They adore you from what I can see.”
Clive laughed. “True enough. But it doesn’t sit well that I spend my days as a cop in Chicago.”
“A cop! I remember very distinctly that you told me, not too long ago, actually, and in a rather snobbish way, I might add, that you were not a cop, but rather a detective inspector; so there!” she said, raising her eyebrows.
Clive smiled and looked out at the invisible lake. “Tell that to Mother.”
Henrietta followed his gaze and asked more seriously, “But why, Clive? Why didn’t you tell me about all of this?”
“Would it have made a difference?”
Henrietta paused to consider. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“See?”
Henrietta let this sink in. “But why me, then, Clive? You could have any woman.”
“Hmm. I seem to remember you asking me this once before,” he said, turning toward her now, a smile lurking behind his eyes.
“But now it’s even more relevant! Why not some woman more suited to this life? I don’t know how to play bridge! I’m a 26 girl, for God’s sake! Worse yet, a taxi dancer and an usherette!—though that was your doing. Something tells me I won’t be needing my fishnet stockings for any occasions here with your mother! Imagine if they knew that,” she said, nodding her head toward the house.
Clive had to laugh. “Well, first of all, as I’ve corrected you before, I’m not sure I could have any woman, though it’s kind of you to say.” He paused as if collecting his thoughts before continuing and sighed.
“Henrietta, I don’t want a society woman, and God knows they threw enough of them in my path after Catherine died. But I’m not interested in all of that. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I suppose I was just . . . well, waiting, maybe . . . for something different. I don’t know . . . someone good, someone untainted by all of this.” He looked at her now, and the intensity of his gaze made her pulse quicken. “I love you, Henrietta. You remind me of a younger, happier time . . . a time before so much sadness came over the world.” He reached out and stroked her cheek, and she closed her eyes momentarily at his touch. “Something about you unsettles me, makes my heart beat faster . . . which is quite extraordinary, really, because before I met you, I hadn’t discerned that it had nearly stopped altogether.” He continued to gaze at her. “There’s something different about you, something constant . . . something untouched.”
Henrietta gave a little laugh. “I’m hardly untouched, Inspector,” she said, daring to trace the stubble along the edge of his jaw.
“You can’t fool me, Henrietta,” firmly grasping the hand that gingerly touched his face. “For all of your seedy jobs and your get-ups, you’re still very innocent, very trusting. I see that now.”
Henrietta couldn’t help but smile, not just at his words, but at the fact that he had assessed her so completely. It was as if he really knew her, the real her, and it gave her confidence to continue. “Are you forgetting that you’ve seen me in very compromising situations?” she asked shyly, referring to the case they had been on together, though much of that night was still blurred in her memory either from shock or the drug she had been given by Mrs. Jenkins. Only vaguely did she remember that she had been wearing something quite revealing when Clive had eventually discovered her.
“How could I?” he smiled wryly. “I must confess, however, that though I tried to look away, you quite took my breath away.”
Henrietta felt herself unexpectedly blush.
“But in all seriousness, the lengths you were willing to go to help Libby and Iris . . . to help me. What you were willing to sacrifice. I couldn’t help falling in love with you.”
Henrietta turned her head away and shifted uneasily, feeling guilty about the night they had spent locked up together because her motives had not been entirely as Clive imagined them. It was true that she had wanted to help find the missing girls, but her real motive in helping Clive, if she was honest, was because she had wanted to impress this man whom she had fallen for, someone who despite his aloof edge had seemed genuine and true, like her father had once been before he had lost his way, someone different from the nameless crowd of men who sought only to ogle her or touch her. She had wanted desperately to be needed by him, to mean something to him, to be in his life for even just a little bit, and had taken the job for that purpose. She smiled up at him now as she thought about how lucky she was to be here with him, to have won him in the end, though at a very nearly fatal price.
“I just hope I don’t prove to be a disappointment,” she said wistfully, her nagging thoughts fighting their way back into her consciousness again.
“A girl like you?” he said, tilting his head to the side, allowing his gaze to linger. “Never.” He lifted her chin with his finger and softly brushed his lips across hers. Henrietta felt her body responding immediately and before she could stop herself, she put her free hand behind his head and pulled him to her, kissing him deeply, his resulting excitement palpable. When she felt him part her lips with the tip of his tongue, she felt weak and her breath quickened. She couldn’t explain the intense passion she felt for him. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before, and it left her powerless. She had stopped him from going too far that night in the park when he had proposed to her, but she was finding her resolve harder and harder to maintain.
Suddenly, however, it was maintained for her when they heard a noise at the other end of the terrace. Henrietta froze, but Clive very casually straightened, somehow seeming to have already guessed the source, and turned tiredly to see none other than Billings standing in the doorway.
“I’m very sorry to disturb you, sir,” the servant said dully. “I saw a light on and came to investigate. I presumed the house to all be in bed already. I do apologize,” he said, bowing slightly. “Might I get you anything more this evening?”
“No, Billings,” said Clive resignedly, though he was looking at Henrietta as he said it. “We’re coming up now, too.”
“Very good, sir,” he said and disappeared back into the house, but the moment between the lovers was irrevocably broken.
Clive smiled at her regretfully and ran his fingers down her shoulder before he held his arm out to her. “Ready?” he asked. With a sigh, Henrietta took it, and he led her back inside, where they parted for the night with just a quick kiss at the top of the stairs.
Alone in her room, however, Henrietta lay awake for a very long time. She felt unsettled and unusually warm as she tossed and turned, unable to stop thinking about Clive kissing her, of him reaching gently between her legs that night in the park before she had stopped him, or of the whisper of a touch as he had once grazed her breast . . . Irritated and restless, she kicked back the covers and tried to think of home instead, wondering if they were all okay there. It was the first time she had ever slept in a bed by herself, and while she had been delighted by the prospect when she had first been shown to her room, she was finding it difficult now to actually sleep. As the hours ticked on, she had found it hard to drift off without Elsie next to her and Ma’s light snoring on the other side, not to mention the twins on their pallet on the floor next to them.
“Did you sleep well?” Mrs. Howard repeated, concerned.
Henrietta startled and pulled her mind away from the memory of Clive’s kisses to answer his mother. She would have to pay attention if she wanted to succeed here. Clive was gone for who knew how long, and she would just have to make the best of it.
“Yes. Very well, thank you,” she answered politely.
“I have a few things to do this morning,” Mrs. Howard was saying, “so I thought I’d leave you to find your way about. I know Clive showed you most of the house yesterday, but you might want to explore the grounds. There’s a lovely path that runs along the lake, if you’re so inclined. That or I’m sure you have a long correspondence list you’ll be wanting to attend to. You’re very welcome to use the desk in the morni
ng room, if you’d like. You’ll be quite undisturbed. But should you want anything, just ring for one of the servants.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Then after luncheon, perhaps we can sit down together and start on the list for the party.”
Henrietta smiled weakly. “Yes, of course.”
There was a cough in the direction of Mr. Howard. He rose slowly from his chair. He was dressed impeccably today in a suit of the latest cut, though, like his wife, he exuded an air of elegant restraint. His thick, wavy hair was a fine shade of gray and was held in place by some sort of hair cream. He had Clive’s kind eyes, and Henrietta could not help think of Mr. Hennessy whenever she looked at him, despite the difference in their stations in life.
Mr. Hennessey was not of the upper classes, but he was a kind of gentleman just the same. He had been her boss at Poor Pete’s, the corner tap she had been employed at since she was thirteen when she had turned up looking for work after her father’s suicide. Mr. Hennessey had taken pity on her and had allowed her to come in and clean, and she had gradually become a waitress as well as a 26 girl, keeping score for Poor Pete’s regulars before she had been lured away by Polly to become a taxi dancer. Still, Mr. Hennessey had been like a surrogate father to her, watching over her and giving her all sorts of advice over the years, as had his wife, Alice. And it was to Mr. Hennessey that Henrietta had directed Clive to officially ask for her hand in marriage. Clive had accordingly made his way to Poor Pete’s the very next day after his proposal to Henrietta and, with hat in hand and in all seriousness, had explained his desire to marry Henrietta and had promised to love and cherish her and to provide for her. Henrietta was perhaps the only one to have seen Mr. Hennessey wipe a quick tear from his eye before he had robustly shook Clive’s hand and had broken out his best bottle of bourbon for them all to toast the happy couple.
“I must go, my dear,” Mr. Howard said absently as he checked his pocket watch for the time. “I’ll never make the 9:04 at this rate, dash it! Billings, tell . . . what’s his name again?”
“Fletcher, sir. Jack,” Billings said the name as if it were distasteful, “is what he calls himself.”
“He’s the new chauffer,” Mrs. Howard explained to Henrietta.
“Tell Fletcher, then, to bring the car around immediately, double quick.”
“Very good, sir,” answered Billings with a bow and promptly disappeared.
“Goodbye, my dear,” Mr. Howard said, perfunctorily kissing his wife on the forehead, which she had dutifully tilted toward him. “And goodbye, Henrietta,” he said with a little wink, as he hurried across the room. “Enjoy the wedding plans.”
“Yes, thank you,” Henrietta responded, turning in her seat to answer him, but he was already gone.
Mrs. Howard had excused herself shortly thereafter, leaving Henrietta to stare absently around the room they called the breakfast room, which was different than the long, opulent dining room Clive had shown her yesterday, as well as the morning room, which was not really for eating in, Clive had explained in answer to her questions, except for tea. Henrietta sighed as she took another sip of her coffee, now lukewarm. She had a feeling she was expected to spend part of the morning writing letters, but to whom she couldn’t fathom. She supposed she should write to Ma and Elsie, but she had nothing yet to write, having just left home yesterday, and as that hadn’t gone particularly well, Henrietta thought a couple of days of silence between them might be for the best.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss!” said a voice in the doorway, and for a confused moment, Henrietta thought that it was Elsie. Startled, she hastily looked over to find not Elsie, of course, but a young woman just the same, almost a girl, dressed plainly in a maid’s uniform that looked a little too big for her and holding a large silver tray. “I thought everyone was finished. I’ll come back later!” she said, making a slight curtsey.
Henrietta hurriedly stood up. “Oh, no! Don’t go. I’m finished. I’ve just been sitting here daydreaming. Here, let me give you a hand,” Henrietta said, cheerfully gathering up the plates.
“Oh, no, Miss! I couldn’t do that. Please don’t do that. Mistress wouldn’t like it.”
“Why not? I don’t mind. And anyway, I’m used to working.” Henrietta was about to add that she had had countless jobs as a waitress, but then thought better of it, guessing that it was probably not a thing she was supposed to mention.
“Not you! You’re elegant, you are,” the girl responded almost worshipfully.
Henrietta laughed. “Hardly that. I’m Henrietta. What’s your name?”
“Edna, Miss. Edna Moore. I’m one of the junior maids,” she explained. “Used to be in the kitchens, but I got moved up.”
“Well, pleased to meet you, Edna,” Henrietta said, walking over to where the young maid had set her tray and stacking some dishes on it for her.
“Thank you, Miss, but I really can manage,” Edna said timidly.
“Yes, I’m sure you can, but I want to. I need something to do, you see.” Henrietta continued moving around the table helping Edna to stack as much as possible onto the tray. “Have you been here long?” Henrietta asked, picking up the napkins.
“Just about two years now, Miss,” Edna said without looking up.
“You don’t have to call me ‘Miss,’ you know,” Henrietta said with a smile.
“Oh, but I do, Miss,” Edna said nervously. “Mrs. Caldwell wouldn’t like it if I didn’t.”
“Who’s Mrs. Caldwell?”
“She’s the housekeeper here, Miss.”
“Well, when she’s not around, you don’t have to,” Henrietta said, giving her an obvious wink. “How about that?”
“Oh, no, Miss! She and Mr. Billings know everything that goes on around here. They’d surely find out,” Edna said fretfully, picking up the heavy tray.
Henrietta made a move to follow her, but just then Billings himself appeared in the doorway.
“I thought I heard voices in here,” he said stiffly. “Edna, get back to your work. I’ll deal with you later.” Edna’s tiny smile had vanished, and she gave Henrietta a deferential nod before hurrying out under the load of the tray.
“Oh, please, Mr. Billings . . .” Henrietta began.
“It’s just Billings to you, Miss.”
“Billings, then,” Henrietta corrected herself. “Don’t blame Edna! It was my fault. I was delaying her, asking questions, you see.”
“Questions? Asking Edna to provide an intelligent answer to any question of note is rather a waste of time, if I may say so without offense to present company. Should you have inquiries, I hope I might be of service in the future. Mrs. Howard does not approve of fraternization with the servants, especially the junior staff,” he said sternly.
“I see,” Henrietta said, taken aback by his rude dismissal of poor Edna. “Well, I’m very sorry,” she said briskly. “I shall try to avoid any further transgressions in the future.”
“Very good, Miss.” He seemed unaffected by her attempt at coldness. “And now . . . might I help you?”
“Help me?”
“The inquiry you referred to as the reason you were conversing with Edna just now?”
“Oh, yes. I . . . I was . . .” Desperately, she tried to think of a legitimate question. “I . . . Mrs. Howard mentioned a path by the lake, and I was . . . I was just wondering where I might find it.”
At this, Billings gave a slight nod of approval, his eyes ever so slightly belying a flicker of surprise, as if he had expected Henrietta’s answer to be of a more ridiculous, possibly unseemly nature.
“Very good, Miss. I would be happy to escort you to the East Doors. From there you simply walk through the kitchen gardens until you reach a small gate in the brick wall running along at the back. Just open that—it’s never locked—and beyond lies a pretty path, if I may say so, down to the beach. There’s a boathouse there and a dock, and the path Mrs. Howard is referring to lies just beyond it. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you, Billings. It sou
nds . . . delightful,” Henrietta said, trying to imitate the Howards’ speech as much as possible.
“If you’re quite ready, then, I’ll show you now, Miss. Just this way,” Billings said, gesturing toward the door. Henrietta hesitated, as she had not really wanted to go walking just now, but she saw no choice but to follow him. As he silently led her through the house to the East Doors, Henrietta tried to take in the lovely splendors she saw displayed everywhere, her tour with Clive the night before having been somewhat rushed. Beautiful paintings lined the wide hallway as well as statues on pedestals in little alcoves, and there was an enormous arrangement of flowers on a table near the foot of the elaborately carved grand staircase. The bouquet was so large and splendid that Henrietta was tempted to reach out and touch them, to prove that they really existed, but she refrained lest Billings chastise her. By the time they reached the East Doors, which were also made of elaborately carved wood, but of a lighter tone, Henrietta was relieved at the prospect of fresh air and to escape what had begun to seem a bit of a claustrophobic situation. The doors held large leaded-glass windows, which, from where she now stood, cut the gardens beyond into diamonds. A little wooden overhang was perched protectively over the few stone steps that led down to the walks immediately surrounding the house. Henrietta spied a bird’s nest in its eaves but did not call attention to it, somehow guessing that if she did, Billings might have it ripped down for its unsightliness.
“Would you like someone to accompany you, Miss?” Billings said as he held open one of the doors for her.
“Oh, no, Billings! Thanks just the same. I’d like to go alone.”
“As you wish,” he said, bowing slightly and retreating back into the house with what Henrietta perceived to be a decidedly relieved air about him, a feeling she happened to share at this moment, though she wasn’t sure if his relief stemmed from not having to assign anyone to assist her or if he were simply glad to have her out of the house, as if she were a odorous contaminant or perhaps a stray pet.