by Diana Davis
Did they have any legal recourse here? If they had some way to find Uncle Josiah, he would surely know.
The man who’d bought them approached. Cassandra could barely breathe. Helen clutched at her hands even tighter. Their new master seemed simple and straightforward, but what kind of person bought another?
The man searched their faces as he got closer. Assessing them like cattle.
“Helen?” the man said. “Cassandra?”
Cassandra looked to her sister. How did he —?
The man gestured at himself. “Josiah Hayes.”
These were not the circumstances they had expected to meet their new guardian under. “Uncle Josiah?” Helen asked.
He glanced around the market, then held out a hand toward the exit. “Shall we?”
Cassandra gave the little girl next to them a final glance. She looked up at them with doleful eyes. Cassandra felt like a villain leaving her, but there was nothing more she could do. They’d just watched Uncle Josiah purchase their own bond. Now she and Helen were indentured servants themselves, bound to the Hayes family for an unknown period of time.
Did they dare discuss the terms of their servitude with Uncle Josiah now? He strode quickly down the wide pebblestone street back toward the docks, and they had to hurry to keep up with him.
Could they not hire a coach? Was that not done in Philadelphia? Were there no coaches for hire in the Americas?
With each step, Cassandra’s questions seemed to double. She had spent so much of her worry on simply getting across the ocean that she hadn’t spared a thought for what would happen when they arrived. And now they knew: they were to be servants.
They came even with the Rimington again, and the popinjay was still marshalling his trunks along with multiple dock workers. “Wait here a moment,” Uncle Josiah bade them.
Helen took hold of Cassandra’s arm. “Being a maid in Uncle Josiah’s house will be leagues better than being a countess in Cousin Lowell’s,” Helen murmured.
“To be sure.” That didn’t make it any less difficult to lower themselves so.
Uncle Josiah crossed the street to where the popinjay was inventorying his possessions for the thirtieth time. And then Uncle Josiah approached the coxcomb. And spoke to him. As he might to any other man.
“Am I dreaming?” Cassandra asked.
“Only if we both are,” Helen said. “Does he . . . know that popinjay?”
That would be just the thing, if they’d traveled all this way, uncomfortably edging past one another, and he proved to be some cousin or other.
But the popinjay shook Uncle Josiah’s hand. Then the coxcomb pointed out which two trunks were theirs. Had the dock worker simply taken Helen’s shilling and absconded?
As if in answer to her question, the popinjay gave Uncle Josiah a coin.
Cassandra and Helen slowly looked at one another. That coxcomb?
Uncle Josiah hurried back across the street to them and showed them to a waiting coach. Helen and Cassandra boarded while Uncle Josiah directed the dock workers who had been handling the popinjay’s things to load their trunks onto the coach.
Helen and Cassandra were without words until they were underway. “Uncle,” Cassandra finally began, “did you know that nobleman?”
“Oh, no, but he was quite helpful to me.”
Yes, they’d seen that. Was this how it was done in the colonies? One simply walked up to nobility and asked them for help?
“Here’s your shilling.” He handed the coin to Helen. “You had us all worried, taking so long in the crossing. Let me see you,” Uncle Josiah said, peering under the brims of their traveling hats. “I see her in you. Elizabeth.”
Cassandra beamed, though strictly speaking that was an exaggeration for her part. They both had their father’s dark hair, but Cassandra had also inherited his narrower features.
Still, it was a small comfort to hear. At times, she scarcely remembered her mother’s face, though it had only been nine years since she’d gone. Mama was only a few years younger than they were now when Uncle Josiah left England.
“Thank you,” Helen said for both of them. “Did you know Papa well?”
“Oh yes, we were at school together.” Uncle Josiah chuckled. “He was a wit, wasn’t he?”
Helen and Cassandra both agreed.
Uncle Josiah’s smile grew sympathetic. “I was so sorry to hear of his passing.”
“Thank you,” Helen said again.
Cassandra knew she should be taking in the city, her first time in this new place, but instead she found herself studying her uncle. There was a certain softness about his features, although he was still perfectly masculine. Something in the shape of his eyes and his smile reminded her of Mama.
The overall effect was to make him seem very kind. Coupled with his neat but plain attire and his choice not to wear a wig, he seemed unassuming. Hopefully he would be a kind master as well.
The ride from the docks to their new home was not terribly far, and soon they were disembarking in front of a small but fashionable house, pink, with multiple stories and a front porch. Uncle Josiah bid his coachman — or perhaps it was a hired cab? — to help with the trunks, and then he himself grabbed a handle.
Unassuming indeed. Cassandra consulted her sister once again, but neither of them knew quite what to make of him.
“Come, girls — rather, ladies,” Uncle Josiah bid them. “Meet your cousins.”
They followed him up the steps and into the house. The drawing room was done all in wood paneling, painted a deep green, with an impressive marble fireplace dominating one wall.
“Girls!” Uncle Josiah was calling. “They’re here!”
Somewhere above them, a squeal was emitted. A low, approaching rumble began overhead. Cassandra hoped it was more the number of feet doing the stepping, rather than the unladylike behavior of the feet, that produced that much sound.
They had known Uncle Josiah had daughters — that much he had mentioned in his letter — but he hadn’t told them very much about their cousins at all.
The room filled with three — no, four — no, five young ladies lined up in front of the couch. The oldest seemed to be about Cassandra’s age. Their gowns were lovely and well made — if not of the latest English style, a quite recent one.
The oldest, a beauty with hair powdered a shade lighter than theirs, wore a flowered jacket trimmed with fine lace cuffs. She stepped forward, offering her hand. “Good morning! I’m Temperance.”
Helen and Cassandra both looked to Uncle Josiah. Would he not introduce them?
“Oh, my apologies, ladies. I’ve been too long from the mother country. We’re prone to introducing ourselves here. Go ahead: it isn’t improper.” And he left them to make their own introductions.
Helen took Temperance’s hand and shook it. “Helen Crofton,” she said. Then it was Cassandra’s turn, and she gave her name as well. At twenty, Temperance was two years younger than Cassandra and three years younger than Helen.
Next, a quiet girl with piercing eyes and light brown hair, four years Cassandra’s junior. Her gown was a delicate shade of light blue, and her name was Patience.
Constance was next, sixteen, with blonde hair, fine features and rosy cheeks.
Fourth was Verity, with brunette hair and a lovely plump figure in pink stripes.
Last was Mercy, only twelve years old, her blonde ringlets bouncing around her shoulders. She bobbed a little curtsy. “Good morning.”
“What a pleasure it is to meet you all,” Helen said. Aloud, Cassandra agreed, but her mind was racing, trying to calculate how much time they would have to spend caring for their cousins’ hair and wardrobe. Dressing this many mistresses was sure to take them hours.
At least it would be pleasant. All — well, most — of their cousins bore happy and agreeable countenances. Patience would be described more as shrewd, and Mercy as watchful.
Uncle Josiah gestured toward the stairs, where two women descended. “Ladies,�
�� he said, addressing Helen and Cassandra, “this is your Aunt Anne.”
“How do you do?” they each asked with a curtsy.
Aunt Anne’s fine features had the same soft kindness as Uncle Josiah’s. She crossed the room to embrace each of them.
Cassandra fought back emotion. It would have been so lovely to be a part of this family, rather than a servant in their home. But she would make the best of the situation presented to her. This was their duty now.
Helen thanked their aunt and uncle again for taking them in, which they quickly dismissed. The second woman still had not warranted an introduction, and a mere glimpse told Cassandra why: her simple, plain jacket and pinned apron showed she was staff in this household.
At least they wouldn’t be working alone. Hopefully this woman could show them the intricacies of their duties.
Uncle Josiah turned to his daughters. “Girls, I’m going back to my office for a while, but I shall return for dinner. Lord David Beaufort will be joining us.”
Temperance and Constance exchanged a glance behind Patience’s back, excitement flowing between them. Clearly Lord David Beaufort was an important person in their home. The girls’ elation definitely seemed to indicate a marriageable man of good standing.
Uncle Josiah bid his wife farewell and left. Constance and Temperance ran to the windows, like girls much younger than twenty and sixteen. Mercy and Verity followed.
“Do you always see your father off this way?” Helen asked Patience, the only cousin remaining with them.
“It’s the coach. It’s new, and they love to see it and be reminded of how we’ve attained in status.” Her tone was dry, as if such cares were beneath her.
Cassandra watched her cousins. The coach was a symbol of their status? It had been suitable but entirely unremarkable in her estimation.
“Come.” Temperance straightened. “We only have two hours to dress for dinner.”
Her sisters followed her upstairs in a flutter of petticoats.
If they only had two hours, they had better get to work. Cassandra approached the maid. “Good morning. I’m Cassandra.”
The maid consulted Aunt Anne, who merely watched, her face peaceful. “Polly,” the maid introduced herself.
Would she have to go by Cassie as a maid? She’d hardly been called that since she was a child. “What shall I do?”
Again, the maid peeked at Aunt Anne. “Go with the girls, naturally.”
Of course. Impertinent of her to think she could be trusted in a kitchen without any training whatsoever when such an important guest was coming. Of all the household duties, ladies’ maids would suit them best. They certainly had the most experience with their work, albeit from the receiving end.
“Josiah put your trunks upstairs.” Aunt Anne gestured toward the stairs.
Helen and Cassandra both gave a quick little curtsy, as their maids would have done, and hurried upstairs.
“We should get out of these things first,” Helen said. She was right, as she usually thought she was. Cassandra followed her, retracing their cousins’ path up the stairs and to a large bedroom with three beds.
Mercy, the youngest, hopped off her perch on the bed in the furthest corner. “Papa says you are to have this bed, cousins.”
They wouldn’t sleep in the staff quarters? “Thank you,” Cassandra said. Mercy also pointed out their trunks in the corner.
Her sisters were busily raiding two large wardrobes. With so many daughters, it only made sense to have that many gowns. Cassandra couldn’t tell if they were fighting or merely excitedly jabbering, but she was not used to this much commotion to dress, ever.
“Let’s hurry,” Helen murmured. Cassandra stripped out of her jacket. The military style was almost masculine, and the wool was becoming too warm for the day.
Cassandra dug through her own trunk for the jacket most suitable to a maid. Something plain and hardwearing, most likely. She found a cotton jacket that had been a lovely pink before they’d had it dyed grey for mourning. She matched it with a plain black cotton petticoat.
She pinned her jacket to her stays and tucked in her neckerchief. Hopefully Polly would have an apron she could use until she could find one herself. She’d done her hair up already this morning, and there wasn’t much to be done for that, but she replaced her traveling hat with a frilled cap, her most modest. She would have to try to make it over more simply soon, without the lace and satin ribbon.
Helen finished dressing at the same time, and they turned to one another. A little laugh escaped Helen, and Cassandra had to admit to one as well. Helen’s jacket still had lace around the collar and cuffs, and her cap was equally as unsuitable as Cassandra’s. They looked ridiculous, as if they were playing at being maids.
But now was not the time for play: it was time for work. They turned to their cousins, all of whom were more or less gaping at them in horror.
Temperance recovered first, venturing over to their corner. “Would you like to borrow a gown?” she asked, holding out the blue floral one she’d taken off.
“Thank you,” Helen said, her voice stiff, “but we couldn’t possibly.”
Constance joined Temperance. “We would love to share.” Her smile was so genuine, accentuating her rosy cheeks, that Cassandra felt a tug at her heart. Would they always feel caught between two worlds, living with and serving their cousins?
“Why don’t we help you get ready?” Helen’s bright tone rang false to Cassandra’s ears, but she forced on a happy expression as well.
Temperance and Constance glanced at one another before they accepted slowly. Cassandra chose a lovely pink silk for Temperance, who instantly lit up. “That’s my favorite — but I try to save it for special events.”
“Like those held at the Governor’s Mansion,” Patience said. She had settled in a side chair with a book, apparently not interested in dressing to awe Lord Beaufort.
“How else am I to marry the governor’s son?” Temperance trilled back. She turned to Cassandra. “I shall, you know. In time. Papa says I’m still too young.”
“Twenty is young,” Cassandra agreed, though her cousin seemed younger than that still.
“Then I shall have my fun while I still have the chance,” she proclaimed. “Constance, do you have my other lace cuffs?”
Helen located the lace cuffs in a gold gown and carefully removed the stitches holding them there. This was likely not what Mama had in mind when she’d insisted they learn useful needlework as well as fine.
“Patey,” Temperance called, “you should see if Helen and Cassandra can do something with that hair of yours.”
“I’ll bet they can do it in the latest London fashion.” Constance’s tone, like Temperance’s, carried more than a note of teasing.
“I’m happy with my hair the way it is.”
Truth be told, her hair was unfortunately low. What would Lord David Beaufort think for the Hayeses to have two maids more fashionable than their own daughter? From the neck up, that was.
Mercy and Verity were more than happy to be fussed over. Helen even styled Verity’s hair in a very becoming frizzed pouf. One would think the girl had never had her hair powdered before, she was so giddy.
Patey finally abandoned her chair and strolled over to appraise her sisters. “Will you be using Lord Beaufort to make Winthrop Morley jealous, or simply for fun?” she asked Temperance.
Temper flashed behind Temperance’s eyes. “We shall see.”
“Perhaps she’ll simply lead him along until I’m old enough to marry,” Constance said lightly.
“As if you could keep an interest in a single thing that long, let alone one man.”
Patience’s words were clearly aimed to cut, but Constance only laughed, a double-syllable, double-step song of condescension. She turned to Temperance. “I’ll help you tack in the lace,” she said, and they flounced out, arm in arm.
Patience shook her head, watching them go. “I’m afraid they’re always like that.”
> “You don’t have to provoke them,” Cassandra suggested.
Patience sighed. “It is my fatal flaw.”
“We’d be happy to help you get ready,” Helen offered.
Patience scanned the room. Verity and Mercy sat on the far bed, furiously discussing something. “I don’t know,” Patience said at last.
“Please?” Cassandra hoped her smile was encouraging. “We don’t have to make you look like your sisters.”
Patience glanced back in the direction they’d left, then slowly turned back to Helen and Cassandra. “Yes, but . . . could you?”
Helen was more gifted with hair, so she tackled the pomatum and powder while Cassandra pondered the apparel. They had half a dozen gowns to choose from, but these were things they saw every day.
Perhaps Patience needed something new. Cassandra visually measured her cousin’s figure. Her gowns might be a little broad across the shoulders for her cousin, but a neckerchief would cover any problems with fit. Cassandra went to her trunk and found her favorite gown, a cream sack-back with stripes, vines and purple grapes, one of the few she hadn’t been able to bear to dye. It was a bit overly formal for dinner, but why not? “Here,” she said. “Would you like to wear this?”
Patience’s countenance lit up, though she couldn’t move while Helen was still pinning her hair up into voluminous curls, now fashionably frizzed. “Such a fine robe à la française? Are you sure you don’t want to wear that?”
“Oh, yes.” Cassandra waved away the idea. How hard did her cousins want to make this transition?
“Thank you,” Patience breathed.
Cassandra unpinned Patience’s jacket from her stays and helped her out of the sleeves, trading places with Helen to accomplish their jobs. She fetched Helen’s purple stomacher and pinned both of their garments to Patience’s stays, careful to arrange the extra fabric to not show. It was a bit broad across the back, especially with the weight of the pleated panel that hung down from the shoulders like a train, but as Patience tucked in one of Cassandra’s filmiest kerchiefs, the fabric covered any gaping.
Patience stood and slowly spun for them. She was utterly transformed, possibly more beautiful than her sisters, each of whom were lovely. If only she could rid her face of the scowl.