Midnight Rose

by Patricia Hagan

  Corrisa smiled to herself. Obviously, Erin Sterling had a lot of spunk, just the kind of woman Ryan needed for a wife. And, even though Corrisa had no illusions about who or what she was, and made it a rule not to get personally involved with any of her customers, she had to admit secretly she was quite fond of Ryan.

  Deciding she wanted to see his future bride up close, she started to follow her.

  She was about to step out of the cobblestone alley and cross the street when she slowed at the sound of female voices—haughty, angry voices—and they were obviously talking about Erin.

  “Look at her,” one of them said waspishly. “Dressed in men’s clothes. And she’s supposed to be so devastatingly gorgeous?”

  They moved onto the boardwalk directly in front of Corrisa, still watching Erin. Quickly, she stepped to the side, in the shadows, so as not to be seen. She recognized one of the two girls as the daughter of Tyrone Manning. He was one of her regular customers, and Carolyn had been pointed out to her by Estelle when they were out shopping one day. She did not know the other girl, but since she seemed to match Carolyn in mannerisms and comments, decided she was equally snobbish.

  “Did you know,” Carolyn remarked snidely, “that my Carl had the nerve to say he didn’t blame Ryan for being mesmerized by that little schemer, because he agreed with all the other menfolk who think she’s absolutely ravishing?”

  Her companion cried, “Why, that’s ridiculous. Keith said the same thing when I told him how all the decent folk of Richmond are appalled that Ryan could even think of marrying Zachary Tremayne’s stepdaughter. Why, poor Victoria is going to have a fit when she gets home and finds out what her son has done.

  “And I agree with you,” she added with a sniff of disdain. “She’s not so pretty. Why, she’s tall and positively gangly looking. There’s nothing feminine about her. Certainly not like dear, sweet Ermine, who looks like a dainty porcelain doll.”

  Corrisa pressed her fingertips against her lips to smother a giggle. She might not know who Carolyn Manning’s friend was but sure knew the man she spoke of—Keith. He came at least three times a week to frolic with Josephine, one of Estelle’s younger girls. And, she thought with wicked delight, she knew Carolyn’s beau as well. Carl Whitfield was also one of her regular customers.

  Suddenly, Carolyn turned around but did not see Corrisa as she looked toward Estelle’s place and cried excitedly, “That’s where she came from! Why, I’ll bet she was in there buying her…unmentionables.” She gave a soft gasp, then laughed shrilly. “Oh, Mary Susan, now we know how she mesmerized poor Ryan. She’s using the wiles of a whore!”

  Mary Susan Hightower was quick to agree, her eyes narrowing with contempt. “Of course. She’s driving him crazy and holding out for marriage. How shameful!”

  Carolyn offered, “She knows that’s the only way she’ll ever get a decent man. Ryan is too noble to take a woman out of wedlock.”

  Now Corrisa was having a terrible time holding back her giggles. She clamped her teeth together till her jaws ached. The thought of Ryan being so noble as to keep a woman virtuous was hysterical.

  Turning once more to stare after Erin, Carolyn cried, “She’s headed for Madame Cherise’s shop. Let’s follow her and see what she’s buying there.”

  “Yes, let’s do.” Mary Susan cried, lifting her skirts to step out into the street and hurry along beside her. “That should be very interesting, since Cherise sells decent things.”

  Corrisa followed close behind, not about to miss anything.

  Madame Cherise glanced up at the tinkling sound of the bell above the door. “Ahh, Mademoiselle Sterling.” She smiled in pleased recognition, then saw the box Erin was carrying. Frowning, she asked, “Is something wrong? Did the wedding gown not fit? I had your measurements, and—”

  “No. I suppose the gown fits fine. To tell the truth, I haven’t even tried it on.” She laid the box on the counter, untied the string, and lifted the lid to reveal the dove silk suit beneath the layers of tissue. “I’m here about this. There’s been a mistake. My mother said she didn’t order it, so I wanted to return it.”

  Cherise was quick to say, “But mademoiselle. There is no mistake. Monsieur Youngblood, he came in and ordered this suit for you, to be delivered with your wedding gown. I worked day and night to have it ready,” she added, almost defensively.

  Erin pointed to the outfit, expression incredulous. “He ordered this?” She shook her head, bewildered. “But…why?”

  “He said you would need it for your nuptial journey.” She hesitated as she realized Erin was truly baffled. “Did he not tell you of his travel plans?”

  Erin shook her head slowly, her gaze transfixed to the suit. Another surprise. And this one was lovely.

  The bell after the door jingled again, but Erin was too deep in thought to be aware of anything going on around her.

  Cherise recognized Carolyn and Mary Susan, gave a nod to let them know she would be with them soon. “So,” she prodded Erin impatiently, “since there is no mistake, I can repack the suit for you to take with you, or perhaps you’d like to step in the back and try it on while you’re here, to make sure it fits.” She motioned to the curtain that concealed the dressing area.

  Erin came out of her reverie and picked up the box. “No. I’m sure it’s fine.” She turned to go and bumped right into Carolyn Manning, automatically apologized, and brushed on by.

  With a lift of her chin, Carolyn launched her verbal attack. “This must be a terribly busy time for you, Erin. You seem to have so many different places to shop—suits from here, lingerie from Fine Things.”

  Cherise gasped to hear such a thing and did not notice the bell ringing once more as Corrisa stepped inside the shop.

  Erin stiffened at Carolyn’s remark but maintained her composure, commanding herself not to be goaded into an unpleasant scene. She continued on her way.

  “I’m not surprised, though, are you, Mary Susan?” Carolyn asked her companion in a shrill, nervous voice. She was eager to hurt Erin Sterling, because she was still mad over the way Carl had panted after her at the Rose Ball. She rushed on. “After all, when you aren’t received by Virginia’s prominent families, I suppose you have to rely on any means available to try and get a decent husband, even if it means buying whore’s lingerie.”

  Cherise glowered with disapproval as Carolyn and Mary Susan began to giggle almost hysterically, covering their faces with their hands.

  Erin opened the door but could not resist a taunt of her own. “Have you looked at your underwear lately, Carolyn? Maybe you should. I don’t see a ring on your finger.” She walked out, chin up in defiance. They could think whatever they wished. She just didn’t give a damn.

  Carolyn stared after her, eyes ablaze. “How—how dare she say such a thing?” she sputtered indignantly. “The nerve…”

  Mary Susan looked on but remained silent, not sure whether she wanted to endorse her friend’s behavior any longer, due to the way Madame Cherise was glaring at her, along with the other woman who’d come in that she didn’t know.

  Enraged, Carolyn cried, “Let’s go. I don’t want to shop where she does.” She bolted toward the door, then saw Corrisa staring at her so obviously with contempt and lashed out, “Well, what are you looking at? I know who you are. You’re one of Estelle’s girls. I’ve seen you lounging around on the steps, trying to entice men off the street. Get out of my way.”

  She jerked open the door and rushed out, but Corrisa was suddenly livid with rage. Damn the snotty little bitch, she fumed, following after her. If there was one thing she never did, it was stand outside and lure men off the street, and she wasn’t going to let Carolyn Manning get away with accusing her of doing so. “You listen to me, you arrogant little twit,” she cried, not caring who overheard. “Who the hell do you think you are accusing me of being a—a street whore? You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Mary Susan, mortified at the scene, dashed away in the opposite directio
n, not about to be involved.

  Madame Cherise, totally disgusted, closed the door after them in curt dismissal.

  Erin, across the street and about to mount her waiting horse, paused to listen as the two women squared off. All around, others were gathering to watch.

  Carolyn was oblivious to everything, would later be horrified at her own behavior, but for the moment was too angry to care. “I know what you are,” she screamed at Corrisa. “And I’ll bet you helped her pick out her filthy fine things. Your kind knows what men like, don’t you?”

  At that, Corrisa threw her head back and laughed raucously. She could not resist taunting, “Well, I know what Carl likes, for sure.”

  A roar went up from the men standing around as the women exchanged shocked murmurs.

  Corrisa knew when word spread and Carl heard, she would lose a customer, but so what? It was worth it to see the look on that hateful girl’s face as she turned and ran away.

  Heading back to Estelle’s, Corrisa glanced up to see that Erin was watching her from her horse. She also saw the way she was smiling with gratitude, as well as the wink of approval. She smiled back, thinking how Erin was every bit as lovely as she’d heard. Ryan had made a good choice, she decided, continuing on her way, and Erin was a lucky young woman.

  Erin stared after her thoughtfully. So, she was one of the women, the prostitutes, who worked at Estelle’s establishment.

  And Carolyn had said her kind knew what men liked.

  She had not forgotten her vow for revenge after Ryan had humiliated her that day in his study. She found herself suddenly wishing she had the nerve to go after that woman and ask her for a few tips on how to torment him, as he had tormented her.

  But she did not dare.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As their carriage turned from the main road in to the tree-lined driveway, Arlene felt a bit lightheaded. The day before, Rosa had gone to Tulwah’s shack, deep in the swamp, and brought back the potion he had concocted for her. It smelled terrible and looked worse, thick and dark, with all kinds of ominous things swirled in its depths. But when she had tried it, the result was nothing short of a miracle. Gone was the dry, papery feeling in her throat. And if she began to cough, one sip would take away the hacking. To make sure she would not have a spell during the wedding, she had taken several strong doses before leaving and felt tipsier than she had after the champagne at the engagement party.

  Erin noted the glassy look in her mother’s eyes and worriedly asked, “Are you all right? You look…strange.”

  “I feel strange,” she confirmed with a dreamy smile. Not about to admit the true reason, she equivocated, “Why shouldn’t I? It’s not every day a mother sees her daughter get married, especially to a man like Ryan Youngblood, and, oh…look!” she cried, pointing out the carriage window as they rounded a curve in the drive.

  Roses.

  Everywhere, it seemed, there were blood-red roses—pots set under every tree on the lawn, urns filled with the fragrant blossoms on either end of every step going up to the porch, where baskets lined the edges. Even rose petals were strewn on the walkways, across the lawn.

  Arlene breathed a sigh and wondered aloud, “I can’t imagine why Ryan would have so many roses. After all, this is Jasmine Hill, known for that particular flower.”

  Erin felt smug. He knew red roses were her favorite, and, no doubt, this was his peace offering for having offended with the distasteful lingerie. Maybe one day she would tell him it was not the lingerie that had offended, but the intent. Frankly, she would have liked to wear it for him, but that time would come. First, he had to learn she was not going to be subservient.

  Arlene felt compelled to say, “I know this wasn’t the way you would’ve liked things to be, Erin. I know you wanted to fall in love first and have everything all nice and romantic. But it’s for the best. You’ll see. Look around you.” She gestured to the opulent surroundings as the carriage rolled to a stop. “You’re going to have a wonderful life. And I’m impressed, and appreciative, over the way Ryan has tried to make this a memorable day for you both.”

  Erin made no comment. All she wanted was to get it over with so she could get on with her plans for the future. Once Rosa confided in her, some of the other slaves had also opened up, eager to inform her of the atrocities they endured. It was with deep fervor that she now felt driven to help them in their cause. So many would not flee and seek freedom, for they were either too frightened or could not bear to leave their families and loved ones. But those who did have the spark to run away and make a better life, these Erin was firmly committed to help in any way possible.

  Arlene sensed her tension and mistook it for the moment at hand. “You’re beautiful, darling,” she said, her voice a bit slurred from Tulwah’s potion. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Erin gave her a grateful, loving smile. And when she stepped out of the carriage, she knew her mother was not just being kind with her compliments. An impressed ripple went through the crowd gathered in anticipation of her arrival, and she heard whispered exclamations—“So pretty!” “Oh, isn’t she lovely?” “Beautiful, just beautiful!”

  Her gown was silver satin, the bodice plain, the neckline high and delicately edged in lace. The sleeves were poufed from shoulder to elbow, then tapered to her fingertips. The waistline was smooth and tight above the first, thick, bouffant folds of satin that layered almost to the floor. Her black hair, as shiny as a crow’s wing in the midafternoon sun, was first pulled up and held by a cluster of net intertwined with tiny satin bows, then trailed in ringlets down her back.

  Arlene was dressed in a simple gown of shimmering blue satin, overlaid with cream-colored lace. As she stepped from the carriage to receive the hand of the uniformed stable boy, the crowd likewise acknowledged her beauty.

  Rosa had been sitting opposite them in silence, awed by everything she had seen on the near-hour-long ride. She got out on the other side of the carriage. She knew she was supposed to go to the rear of the enormous house to wait till she was called to assist, if needed, but hesitated to watch everyone’s reaction over seeing Miss Erin. The gown was lovely, Rosa had to admit, but it was silver, and wasn’t that the same as gray? She shook her head, remembering the saying her mamaw had recited about the colors a bride should and shouldn’t wear. That had been a long time ago, when she was a little girl growing up on a big plantation outside Charleston, South Carolina, and her mamaw was loaned out to other families to make wedding dresses for their daughters. Rosa struggled to remember the lines—“Married in white, you have chosen all right. Married in green, ashamed to be seen. Married in red, you will wish yourself dead. Married in blue, you will always be true. Married in black, you will wish yourself back.”

  She could not resist an ironic snort to think how Miz Arlene probably wished she had got married in red or black, but what was it about gray? Her brow furrowed as she pressed on to recall the long-ago lines.

  From the driver’s seat above, Ben, resplendent in a suit of bright yellow satin, leaned to whisper, “Rosa, you better quit gawkin’ and get on around and outta my way, ’cause I gotta move on. Other wagons is a’comin.”

  She obliged, still brooding. Then, just as she started toward the back, she paused to take one more look at Miss Erin. And then she remembered—“Married in gray, you will go far away.”

  As the thought struck, an invisible cold mist seemed to descend, showering her with dread. Something, maybe the obeah Tulwah said everybody with West African roots had in them, filled her with the chilling awareness that it was so. Miss Erin would indeed be going far away. And not just on the trip with her new husband. There was something else. She could feel it in her bones—and suddenly she was scared and did not know why.

  The air was perfumed with the scent of all the roses, and despite everything, Erin was impressed by the ambience Ryan had graciously provided. Glancing about, she was assured he was nowhere about. Her mother had sent Ben with a note a few days earlier, reminding Ryan t
hat it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress before time for the ceremony. Erin was not superstitious but appreciated his respect for her mother’s request.

  She did not know the man who stepped forward to greet them officially. Vaguely she recalled seeing him at the Rose Ball, where he had been dancing with the young woman who had been with Carolyn Manning at Madame Cherise’s. He was wearing wide, brown nankeen trousers with a coffee-colored tailcoat, a short waistcoat of yellow brocade, a top hat, and pumps.

  Removing the hat, he bowed with a flourish, then took Arlene’s hand to bestow an obligatory kiss before straightening to say, “Mrs. Tremayne, on behalf of Ryan Youngblood, master of Jasmine Hill, welcome.” He then repeated the ritual for Erin before introducing himself. “I am Keith Roland, and I’m honored to be Ryan’s chief attendant today.”

  Erin exchanged expected pleasantries as he proceeded to escort them upstairs and into the house. He seemed nice enough, but still she was able to detect an air of subtle condescension in his manner. He, like some of the others, obviously did not approve of the marriage, but if they would only give her a chance, she intended to do her best to make them like her. But, she silently vowed, they would have to give her that chance. She was determined not to be subjected to derision as she had been in Madame Cherise’s shop.

  She noted that the house was even more splendid than she remembered. It was as though every bit of finery had been brought out to add glitter and splendor to the supposedly auspicious day. Everything was shining, sparkling, from the crystal and china laid out in the dining room they passed, to the objets d’art in the foyer.