“‘For thou shalt find it after many days.’” Rosalyn finished the verse, nodding. “The good we do comes back to us. I’ve always felt that way, too.”
“I think this petticoat will fit you.” Jessie handed it to Rosalyn. “Don’t you dare protest. This is the last thing I shall give you, you ungrateful creature.”
Rosalyn relented and received the gift with a smile.
“Now, let’s see how much we can fit into this trunk. I will need it back, though. Perhaps Nate can help you return it?”
“I’ll arrange something,” Rosalyn replied. She wasn’t sure how comfortable she felt asking Nate for more favors. He had already done so much.
They began to place the clothing in the trunk.
“I’m sorry my landlady was so immovable on the subject of your staying here, but perhaps it’s for the best, eh? You’ll be able to have a proper bedchamber again. Your description of the Morans’ house sounds very agreeable, too.”
“So you’re not concerned about me moving in with a man?” Rosalyn teased.
“Scandalous woman,” Jessie returned. She sobered. “I know you’ll be chaperoned by half a dozen people, yet I can’t help noticing the very admiring looks he gives you. Please promise me you’ll be careful.”
Rosalyn wanted to protest that Nate couldn’t possibly have that kind of interest in her, but she didn’t think there would be any profit in arguing. So she said simply, “I’ll be careful.”
“Good.” Jessie pulled Rosalyn into a hug. “I want only the best for you as you begin your new life in London.”
My new life in London.
Those words echoed in Rosalyn’s thoughts two hours later as she unpacked her things in her new home. She paused and once more surveyed the room that was now hers. It was on the top floor and had originally been designed as servant’s quarters. But the Morans had added homey touches to make it more cheerful and less spartan. The room held two narrow beds, but one was covered with a colorful quilt and pillows to give it the appearance of a sofa. Cheery curtains decorated the small window, and a jar of rose-scented cold cream—a gift from the Moran sisters—was set out with a comb and brush on the nightstand.
Rosalyn thought she could be quite content here.
A light tap on the open door startled her. She turned to see Nate leaning against the doorframe. “How are you getting along?” he asked.
He was watching her with a friendly expression, his lips turned up in a slight smile.
Jessie’s words came back to her. “I can’t help but notice the very admiring looks he gives you.”
Was that what he was doing now? Suddenly self-conscious, Rosalyn pushed a stray bit of hair back into the bun at the base of her neck.
He was looking at her expectantly, and she realized she had not yet answered him. She also realized she was still holding one of the chemises Jessie had given her. Quickly she tucked the item into a drawer and closed it. “All moved in.”
She spoke a tad too brightly to cover her embarrassment, but Nate didn’t seem to notice. He stepped into the room to close the lid on the empty trunk. “Mary mentioned that you need to get this back to Jessie. We can borrow a dog cart from the ostler’s where I work. Cheaper than hiring a cab.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I seem to be wearing out that phrase here.”
“It’s no trouble.” He was standing quite close to her now. He had to stoop a little, on account of the way the wall nearest him sloped downward. Even so, he filled the room with his presence.
It was strange standing there, the two of them alone. Suddenly, they both seemed at a loss for words. Only the pigeons cooing under the eaves prevented the room from falling completely silent. Perhaps the novelty of being with him like this would wear off as Rosalyn spent more time in the Morans’ home. For the moment, she could not help feeling disconcerted.
Nate pulled the trunk to the doorway, where he could straighten to his full height. “There’s no time to deliver it today, though. We need to leave for the theater soon.”
Rosalyn found her voice as the distance between them widened. “That will be fine. I don’t think Jessie expects it before tomorrow.”
He reached down for the trunk handle. “Are you coming? Ma said to be sure to eat something before you go.”
“I’ll be down shortly.” She met his gaze. “Thank you. For everything.”
“There you go, wearing out that phrase again.” He smiled, but Rosalyn thought she saw something else in his eyes. A touch of unease, perhaps.
He lifted the trunk as easily as if it were nothing. “I’ll go ahead and set this downstairs for now.”
After the show that night, when Rosalyn had finished her duties, she met Nate at a prearranged spot backstage. While she was staying with Jessie, they had taken a cab directly from the stage door. Nate, however, had told her that he generally preferred to walk home. She supposed it was because his family was doing all they could to save money.
Rosalyn felt a twinge of uneasiness as they stepped outside. She found this area daunting enough in the daytime. The narrow street was a motley collection of old Tudor buildings that were rickety and down-at-heel. More recent structures of brick were interspersed here and there, but nothing looked newer than a hundred years old. The pub directly across from the stage door looked decidedly dodgy.
“Do any of the cast or crew ever go to that pub?” she asked.
Nate shrugged. “A few of the stagehands go there sometimes. Not Patrick, though. He has his wife and son to go home to. Why would he stay here?”
As if to punctuate Nate’s point, there was a commotion at the pub as the barman hauled a customer outside and shoved him away from the door. “Go home, Harry,” he said gruffly. “Your wife won’t thank you for spending all your coin here.”
The man took a few wobbly steps before leaning against the wall. “How do you stay in business if you keep chasin’ people away?”
The barman only turned on his heel and went back inside.
“Come on,” said Nate. “The streets get better after this.”
The streets did get wider and better lit as they continued on. They met other pedestrians along the way, and Rosalyn was glad that most were more sober than the man they’d seen at the pub. Every block or so, a patrolling constable nodded a greeting to them as he passed. Rosalyn was surprised to see so many carriages and even work carts on the streets. Still, the volume was nowhere near as high as it was in the daytime.
Every sound seemed heightened and more distinct: their footsteps echoing on the pavement, the clop of horses’ hooves, the church bell tolling the half hour.
They paused briefly to wait for a passing carriage before crossing the street. Nate took a deep breath of the crisp night air. “I enjoy this time of night. The city doesn’t seem so suffocating.” He turned to look at her. “How are you doing? You seemed wary when we first left the theater.”
“It feels strange, being out at this hour,” she admitted. “I can’t remember any time that I’ve been out on the streets past midnight.” She wasn’t going to count her flight from Mrs. Hurdle’s house in the predawn.
“That’s a good thing. I don’t think it’s proper for ladies to be out so late.”
She looked at him. “What is your opinion of the singers, then?”
“They chose their profession. They do what they need to do. Just be careful around the men.”
It seemed a humorous irony that this advice was coming from a man—and one Jessie had described as a battle-hardened veteran at that. “Jessie has already warned me to watch out for all men—not just the actors,” she said. “I think that covers it.”
“It’s good counsel. I hope you heed it.”
“I’m doing fairly well so far. Except for right now, of course. Although Mary assures me you’re safe enough.”
Her teasing tone must have taken him by surprise. He shot her a glance. “Don’t be so sure. My sister isn’t always right, even if she does like t
o think so.” His face was in profile to her, but Rosalyn saw the corner of his mouth quirk in a smile. She liked seeing these little moments of levity in him.
When they reached the Moran home, Nate motioned for her to be very quiet as they stepped inside. They went silently down the hall, pausing at the open parlor door. In the dim glow of the banked fire, she could just make out Patrick, asleep in his chair with Tommy on his chest.
“They do this almost every night,” Nate whispered. “It’s Patrick’s way of allowing the rest of the household to sleep.”
Rosalyn studied the sleeping pair. “They are charming. What will the family do when Patrick goes back to work?”
“Suffer.”
Even though they were still whispering, she heard the playful note in his voice.
She saw Nate stifle a yawn. After a very full day, Rosalyn ought to have been tired, too, but the walk with Nate in the bracing night air had left her unaccountably alert and refreshed. The prospect of more evenings like this filled her with pleasant anticipation.
They took the stairs, pausing when they reached the landing on the second floor, where Nate’s bedroom was located. Tired as he was, Nate found he was reluctant to see the evening end.
Rosalyn seemed in no hurry to continue to her room. “Looks like I made it home safely with you after all.” She kept her voice low to avoid disturbing the sleeping household.
Nate didn’t think to respond. His attention was focused on the way a smile played around her lips as she spoke. By long lashes framing eyes that glittered in the candlelight.
She peered up at him, perhaps thinking it odd that he couldn’t answer. Couldn’t move. “Good night,” she said. “Sleep well.”
He stood there for several moments after she’d gone. A delicate, floral scent lingered where she’d been standing. He breathed deeply, his eyes closed, drinking it in. He might well have stood there all night had not cold conscience brought him back to his senses.
What am I doing?
The question burst into his mind. He should know better than to spend any time at all dwelling on a woman’s charms. Such thoughts were the first steps on the road to disaster. He turned and hastened to his room.
If anything could bring him back to reality, it was the sight of the note lying on his bed. He recognized the handwriting. It was from Ada.
With a heavy sigh, he sank onto the bed and slowly unfolded the letter. She was replying to the note he’d sent her, fixing the day he would go to their house. Friday.
Whether the meeting would change anything was doubtful, but Nate was resigned to going through with it. Especially if it meant his family would finally let the matter rest.
A thought struck him out of the blue. He’d never once thought of Ada whenever Rosalyn was in his presence. As he mulled over the implications of that, it took him a very long time to get to sleep.
It was midmorning by the time Rosalyn made her way downstairs. She found Mrs. Moran and Hannah in the kitchen. Mrs. Moran immediately offered her breakfast. While Rosalyn ate at the plain block table, Mrs. Moran busied herself preparing food for the rest of the day’s meals. Hannah sat in a narrow wooden chair near the fireplace, nursing Tommy.
By that hour, Nate and Martha had already gone to work. Mrs. Moran told Rosalyn that Liza and Mary were out delivering laundry. They did washing for several large households to bring in extra money. Rosalyn also discovered that she wasn’t likely to see much of Mrs. Fletcher, who spent most of her days working at various charitable organizations, including the charity house run by the church. As a widow able to support herself with a small pension, she said she felt most useful when she was able to use her time to help others.
“Everyone seems to have such a sense of purpose,” Rosalyn observed. “I feel as though I should be helping out, too.”
“You have plenty of work to do, with your long hours at the theater,” Mrs. Moran pointed out. “But we will be glad of your help once you’ve settled in.”
“There is something I need to attend to as soon as I can,” Rosalyn said. She told Mrs. Moran about the clothing Jessie had given her.
“Oh, I can help you with the alterations,” Hannah said. “This little fellow will be asleep soon. I’ll go upstairs with you so you can try on the clothes, and we’ll see what’s needed.”
By midafternoon, Rosalyn and Hannah were at work in the parlor, sewing the hems on two skirts they’d agreed would be simplest to alter and most useful for Rosalyn. Mary had joined them, too, though she was proving to be less skilled with a needle. She kept them entertained by reading aloud from the newspaper.
Mrs. Moran came into the room. “Patrick, you’re shirking your duties,” she said to her son, who was in his usual chair by the large fireplace. “It’s too cold in here.”
“Right you are.”
Rosalyn was surprised at how mobile Patrick could be, even with his leg in a splint. Using his crutch, he was able to get out of his chair and tend to the fire.
Still absorbed in the newspaper, Mary turned a page and made a tsk sound. “More action in Afghanistan. I think it’s only going to get worse. It says here—”
“I don’t think you need to read that to us right now,” Patrick broke in, speaking with uncharacteristic sharpness. Rosalyn saw him send a worried glance at his mother.
Mrs. Moran sank into a chair. “I am very much aware of what is going on overseas. Why do you think I’m so dead set against his leaving?”
“I think we all know why he’s re-enlisting,” Patrick said.
No one answered, but they all seemed to silently agree, understanding the meaning of Patrick’s words.
Re-enlisting! Rosalyn pricked her finger with her needle in her surprise. Why?
Mary caught Rosalyn’s questioning gaze. “Jilted. We tried to tell him he’s better off, but he won’t believe us.”
Nate had been jilted? This was even harder for her mind to grasp. It was something she never would have considered. Not now that she was getting to know him. He was a good man. And handsome, too, if she was honest. Immediately she found herself—like Mary—offended on Nate’s behalf. Who would turn away from such a man?
“Mary, let’s not speak ill of anyone,” Mrs. Moran admonished. “What’s done is done. Nate ought to put the past behind him. And I don’t mean by going to India.”
“He’s not gone yet,” Patrick pointed out. “There’s still hope. I did finally get him to agree to see Ada.”
“Good” was Mrs. Moran’s crisp reply. “That’s one answer to prayer, at least.”
Rosalyn could see that Mary was brimming with eagerness to discuss the matter further, but Mrs. Moran apparently considered the subject closed. With great effort, she rose from her chair. Motioning to Mary, she said, “Come help Liza and me prepare tea.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mary reluctantly followed her mother out of the room.
Rosalyn’s mind filled with questions. Was a broken heart truly driving Nate back into the army? Surely there had to be more to the story than that. Whatever his reasons were, she found herself fervently sharing the Morans’ hope that he would change his mind.
“We’d like to take this up to Miss Bond’s room—with your permission?”
Mrs. Kramer eyed Nate and Rosalyn with her characteristic suspicion. But he figured even this irascible old woman would have to admit there wasn’t any other practical way to get the trunk up the stairs.
She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Follow me.”
Jessie met them at the door and opened it wide for them to enter. Once inside, Nate took a moment to look around. He was curious to see just how one of the leading players of London’s most popular show lived. Mary was curious, too, apparently, as Nate could think of no other reason why she had tagged along on this trip.
Jessie lived quite simply, as it turned out. Or perhaps it seemed so because the mantelpiece and shelves were bare of any personal items. They were presumably packed away in the boxes and trunks scattered about the sitting room.
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She directed Nate to the small bedchamber, and he set the trunk down next to the bed. Behind him he heard Jessie tell Rosalyn, “Good news! A letter has come for you from Bristol!”
He turned to see Rosalyn’s face light with joy as she took the letter from Jessie. She tore open the envelope and eagerly read the note inside. Her brows drew together as she read, then lifted in surprise. “My sister says she is coming to London!”
“That’s wonderful!” Jessie exclaimed. “When?”
“On Sunday. She says she has business here on Monday morning. I haven’t any idea what business she should have! But she does ask if she can stay with me on Sunday night.”
“She’s welcome at our home, of course,” Nate said. “We’re a bit more flexible than Mrs. Kramer in that regard.”
Rosalyn laughed. “Imagine! Julia said that I should stay in London, and she will come here to visit me.”
Mary clapped her hands in glee. “When does her train arrive?”
“Two o’clock.”
“I’ll go with you to the station,” Nate offered. He groaned, suddenly remembering his other commitment. “No, I’m sorry. I won’t be able to go. I have to work at the stable on Sunday.”
Mary stared at him in astonishment. “You’re working on Sunday?”
“It couldn’t be avoided. I had to switch with Charlie in order to have Tuesday afternoon off.”
He saw Rosalyn assimilating this information, realizing he’d done it on her account. He could see her preparing to thank him yet again. He was growing uncomfortable with the thought that she might feel increasingly beholden to him, but still he said, “I don’t like the idea of you going to the station alone. Not after what happened last time.”
“It will be the middle of the day,” Jessie pointed out. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
Rosalyn nodded, but Nate thought he still saw some trepidation.
“Martha and I can go with her,” Mary suggested.
“That will work out splendidly, I’m sure,” Nate replied. “If any man accosts her, Martha will pinch his arm, and you’ll give him a stern tongue-lashing.”
The Captain's Daughter (London Beginnings Book #1) Page 16