A Lady of Hidden Intent (28 page)

Once Felicia was gone, Selma looked at Catherine for an explanation. “Somehow,” Catherine began, “she has found out about us. She’s trying to force me to give her all of the money I’ve made or will make. She’s threatening to go to the police otherwise.”

“Oh dear. Well, we knew this kind of thing could happen,” Selma admitted. “Perhaps we would all do well to go to New York.”

Catherine nodded. “I don’t think we have much choice. If I turn over my money to her, it will mean Father will go on suffering another five years at least. You’d best tell Dugan. I’ll go talk to Mrs. Clarkson.”

“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Clarkson said, her face pinched in an expression of pain. “Why must you leave?”

Catherine shook her head. “It’s just better this way. Should the truth get out, you and this establishment will suffer as much as anyone. The revelation that my father is imprisoned for slave trading could ruin you. And while I know Felicia’s jealousy and hatred led her here, I don’t want her to get in trouble for this.

There have already been enough problems in my life. I don’t wish to be associated with yet another set.”

“She’s wrong to do this. She must have snooped around in your rooms. I cannot abide anyone doing such a thing.”

“Still, unless you catch her red-handed,” Catherine said sadly, “I doubt she would ever admit to it. I think, therefore, this is the only answer.”

“But losing you will change everything,” Mrs. Clarkson said. “I cannot continue to offer the great Catherine Shay designs. The house will fold.” She sat down hard and sighed. “This was why I wanted to make you a partner. I wanted to ensure that you would have a reason to stay.”

“I have brought you this,” Catherine said, holding out her sketchbook. “There are a great many designs and pattern layouts on the pages here. You won’t be without something to offer.”

The older woman took the book and held it close. “But it won’t be the same. Please promise me that if you have the opportunity or desire, you’ll return to us. My offer to make you a partner still stands. Oh, and here . . .” She got up and went to her bedroom.

Catherine heard her shuffling around, and when she returned she held a great deal of money. “
Godey’s
hasn’t yet paid, but this is the amount they agreed to.”

“I can’t take it from you if they haven’t paid.”

“It won’t be long before they do,” Mrs. Clarkson replied. “I can afford to give you this now, so please do not fret. Also, there is money that I have set aside for you, as I do with each of the girls who come here. I had thought to simply trade it out in a partnership, but I suppose that can never happen now.”

Catherine took the money. “I’m sorry our circumstances must cause you such grief. It was never my intention, as you know.”

“Where will you go?”

“Back to New York. Captain Marlowe—the man who brought us to America—goes there often, and he can shed some light on what we should do next. He might even have word from my father.”

“When do you plan to leave?”

Catherine got to her feet. “Immediately. Selma and Dugan are packing even now. We will each take one small bag and nothing more. It will be less conspicuous that way. If we’re quick about it, we can make the afternoon train.”

“I want to help. You will, of course, want as much time and distance between you and Felicia before the truth is found out. I can help in that. I will gather what few girls come home from church on the pretense of sharing a cup of Christmas punch before they leave. Have Dugan take the carriage. Leave it at the train station and I will send someone for it.”

“Oh, you are too kind,” Catherine said.

Mrs. Clarkson hugged her tight. “I am doing only what I can. I wish I could make everything right again for you.” She pulled away. “You will be in touch, won’t you? I long to know what happens.”

“I promise I’ll let you know of the changes.” Catherine headed for the door. “I’ll tell Dugan about the carriage.”

“Oh, and Selma may take whatever food she wishes. You must have something to eat on the long journey.”

Catherine nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

Carter couldn’t stop thinking about Catherine all through the luncheon. Leander and Winifred talked about the wedding they desired and of where they might live.

“I would, of course, like for Carter to design us a house,” Leander said with a grin, “but I cannot afford to build my own house at this time.”

The judge exchanged a look with Leander’s mother. She nodded and he cleared his throat. “We had thought to save this for Christmas, but since the subject has come up, we will speak of it now. Your mother and I had planned to buy you a house as a wedding gift. I think it would work equally well to have Carter design something for you.”

“But that will take time,” Mrs. Arlington said thoughtfully,

“so perhaps in the meanwhile, you might live here with us.”

Leander looked to Winifred. “What would you say to that?”

She smiled. “I would say so long as I remain at your side, it doesn’t matter where we live.”

“Ah, spoken from the heart of one truly in love,” Leander’s mother said with a sigh. “It is a love match, to be certain.”

“I would be honored to donate my time and skills,” Carterreplied. “It will be my wedding gift to you both.”

“Oh, you are such a wonderful brother,” Winifred declared, getting up to give Carter a hug.

“I’ll say. That will save us quite a sum,” Leander teased. “I hear you are very expensive.”

They all laughed at this as they settled into the music room. Winifred went to the piano and began to entertain them, and Carter thought her playing quite good. He smiled at the way she seemed to lose herself in the music. He couldn’t help but wonder if Catherine played in the same style and manner.

He looked at the clock. It was nearly time. Carter had already determined he would wait until four, then make his way to Mrs. Clarkson’s. This would give Catherine time to go to church and return for lunch and rest.

After Winifred played two numbers, Mrs. Arlington got up and played. She offered a sweet love song and sang as she masterfully controlled the keyboard.

“ ‘You are my heart’s desire,’ ” she sang. “ ‘My reason for morning and night.’ ”

The words could have been Carter’s pledge to Catherine. He determined there and then that when he saw her that afternoon, he would tell her everything. Even if they didn’t know for sure that all would work to their desired outcome, Carter knew it was the right thing to do. He would tell her that over the last few months he had thought only of her, and in turn had worked to see her father set free.

When the clock struck four and the women concluded their playing, Carter got to his feet. “If you will please excuse me,” he told them, “I have plans to see Miss Shay. I have a great many things to discuss with her.”

Mrs. Arlington smiled. “I hope the condition of your heart is one of those things.”

Carter laughed. “Indeed it is.”

CHAPTER 21

C
arter arrived at Mrs. Clarkson’s feeling rather chilled. Snow had started to fall, and the temperature seemed to drop as he made his way from Lee’s to the sewing house. He had hoped to have Catherine join him for a carriage ride, but since the weather showed no sign of improving, he planned to ask Mrs. Clarkson if they might use her private sitting room.

He grabbed the brass knocker and let it strike several times before standing back. It would have made him happy to find Catherine answering the door, but he was disappointed. The flirtatious blonde he’d met that first day at the sewing house greeted him instead.

“Well, hello. Mr. Danby, isn’t it? Won’t you come in,” she said and curtsied. “What can I do for you?”

Carter gave a brief bow. “Thank you. I would like to speak with Miss Shay, please.”

Felicia nodded. “I’m not entirely certain she’s here, but if you want to rest in here,” she said, motioning to the same room he’d waited in on many occasions, “I’ll go see if she’s returned.” She offered him a coy smile, but her eyes held the look of a hungry lioness. “If she’s not here, I’m sure I can keep you company until she is.”

Carter said nothing. He took a seat and hoped she would take the hint that he had no interest in her. He toyed with the edge of a book—a collection of poetry, he noted—but made no effort to glance inside. At least the warmth of the fire took the chill from his bones.

Within moments, Mrs. Clarkson appeared at the door. “Mr. Danby, what brings you to our establishment on such a blustery day? My, but it hasn’t been this cold in years. Did Felicia offer you something warm to drink?”

He got to his feet. “No, but that’s perfectly all right. I actually came to see Miss Shay.”

Mrs. Clarkson looked rather confused for a moment. “Well . . . that is . . . uh, the Shays aren’t here . . . at present.”

“Might I wait for their return?” Carter glanced to the window.

“I’m not overly anxious to make another trip out this evening.”

“I’m sorry, but I know they do not plan to return for some time. They were to visit with friends.”

He thought she sounded guarded in her words but decided to let the matter drop. “I suppose I can just return in the morning. Thank you for your assistance.”

Mrs. Clarkson nodded. “I wish you a most blessed Christmas, Mr. Danby.”

He smiled. “I wish you the same, Mrs. Clarkson.” Carter pulled his hat down tight and headed back to the carriage, now covered in snow. The horse gave a shake of his harness, as if to insist they hurry home.

Felicia found it odd that the Shays and Catherine had stayed away all day. Felicia had no one to visit for the holidays, and the house was eerily quiet. She figured that in time she would make enough of a name for herself that people would clamor to be with her. At least, that was her dream.

Of course, that dream had been easier to imagine before Catherine’s success in designing gowns. She thought of the secrets she knew regarding Catherine’s past. The knowledge gave her an edge that she hoped would allow for her own success. For now it would come to her in the form of money, but already she was toying with an idea to force Catherine to create designs that Felicia could attach her own name to. It would just be a matter of time before Felicia was able to take the upper hand.