An Unlikely Suitor (22 page)

The only odd thing about the room was that there was no door leading to the hallway. The only way in and out was through the door behind the dresses. And yet, as Lucy sat upon the bed, it made her feel rather safe. She was neatly tucked away in her own little space, far removed from the rest of the household.

“I can be happy here,” she said aloud.

“I’m glad.”

Lucy started as Rowena’s voice came from the doorway. “You discovered my surprise. Are you pleased?”

“It’s a lovely room.”

“It’s a quirky room, hidden away as it is. And I will admit I had you moved here for personal reasons. I like the idea of having you close. I hope you don’t mind. I had your personal things moved while you were at breakfast. I should have told you before I left for the picnic. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I don’t mind a bit.” Lucy was glad she could be honest with her answer.

Rowena dangled a key before her. “This is the key to my dressing room. You can come and go through there.”

Lucy pocketed the key. Then she remembered where Rowena had spent the afternoon. “How was the picnic?”

“Quite delightful. Come and help me out of this and I’ll tell you all the details.”

Lucy’s stomach growled. And no wonder. She hadn’t eaten anything since the few bites at breakfast. Lunch had been bypassed as she worked on Rowena’s dresses, and now that it was dinnertime, she wasn’t sure what to do.

After helping Rowena on with a dinner gown, she couldn’t find the courage to go down to the kitchen to dine with the servants. She didn’t feel up to enduring their disdain.

If only there was some way to venture into the pantry, where she could grab a loaf of bread or some cheese . . .

She suddenly remembered Rowena had ordered tea brought up late in the afternoon. Rowena had invited Lucy to join her, but Lucy had declined because it just hadn’t seemed proper. But maybe . . . if Rowena hadn’t consumed all of it . . .

Lucy ventured into the dressing room, then tentatively into Rowena’s bedroom. There, on a table near the fireplace, was the tea tray. The tea water was tepid, but Lucy poured herself a cup. And the plate of scones held but one half left behind.

Lucy started to devour it, then realizing it might be all she’d have for dinner, ate it slowly, savoring every bite. She licked her finger and smashed it against every crumb on the plate.

So much for preferential treatment.

“Ahhhh!”

Everyone in the workroom looked toward Mamma. But where was she?

There she was, under her worktable, half lying on the floor. Sofia knelt beside her. “What’s wrong, Mamma? What are you doing under here? Give me your hand.”

Mamma pushed her hand away. “I dropped a tin of beads and went to pick them up and twisted my back. I can’t move.”

Mamma ended up inching her way out from under the table, and with the help of the ladies, got to her chair. But when that position caused pain, and since it was the end of the day, Mrs. Flynn told her to go upstairs to the apartment so she could lie down.

Tessie helped Sofia get Mamma up the stairs and to bed. Every movement, no matter how slight, made her groan.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” Sofia asked.

Mamma closed her eyes. “I just need to rest. I need to let my muscles relax.”

Sofia thought about the cleaning they did every night. “Don’t worry about the cleaning. I’ll do it.”

Tessie piped up, “I’ll stay behind and help if you’d like.”

It was a tempting offer, but after kissing a stranger the other day, after behaving so childishly, handling the cleaning on her own was a must. “Thanks, but I’ll be all right.”

After getting Mamma a glass of water and setting some bread and butter close enough for her to reach, Sofia headed downstairs to clean.

“Be careful,” Mamma said.

Her words took Sofia aback. Careful?

Oh. Bonwitter.

She’d be alone in the shop. Although they hadn’t been bothered by Bonwitter for a while, he was still out there.

Why had Mamma reminded her?

Sofia locked Mamma inside the apartment and entered the empty shop, locking that door too. The silence rushed around her like a phantom taking her captive. She held her breath, not knowing what to do to break the awful spell.

The truth was, she was rarely alone. Yes, she liked to go off to read, but she was always near others. She couldn’t remember a single time she’d been so utterly on her own.

Light a lamp!

She was rather ashamed to realize it had always been Mamma’s job to step into the dark lobby and light the gas sconces.
I’ve been letting someone else take care of me even in that. . . .

Once the lamps were lit, the fear abated, but only a bit. Sofia took care of the silence by making as much noise as possible. She began singing as she burst through the curtain to the workroom and lit those lamps. “ ‘East Side, West Side, all around the town. The tots sang ‘ring-around-rosie,’ ‘London Bridge is falling down.’ Boys and girls together, me and Mamie O’Rourke, tripped the light fantastic on the sidewalks of New York.’ ”

She gathered the scraps and deposited them in the bin. But she needed a broom and the dustpan.

They were in the back. In the storeroom.

Another dark place.
Sofia hummed and opened the door tentatively. Where
was
the lamp in here? During the day, the alley window provided light, and at night
 . . .
Mamma or Lucy always lit the lamp.

With only the light from the workroom cutting a swath into the blackness, Sofia tried to remember if the lamp was to the left or right of the door.

Right. Just a few steps to the—

“Hey there, sweet Sofia.”

Her heart stopped, and a match was struck. Bonwitter lit the lamp and grinned at her.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you, girlie.” He looked past her to the workroom. “Your Mamma’s not with you tonight.”

Sofia thought fast. “Yes she is. She’s cleaning the lobby.”

He strolled toward her, making her back up. “No she’s not. I saw you and Tessie taking her upstairs. It’s just you and me.”

Sofia lunged for the broom and held the straw end toward him. “Stay away from me.”

He was not deterred and continued his approach, his eyes intense. “Where’s your sister? I haven’t seen her around lately.”

It gave Sofia some comfort to know Bonwitter had gaps in his knowledge. “She’s probably halfway to the police by now.”

For a quick moment he looked worried. “She wasn’t here with you. I haven’t seen her since—”

“Lucy came in after me, and as I said, I’m sure she’s talking to the coppers right now. You’d better leave, unless you want to get caught.” She was surprised her words sounded forceful, because inside she felt she would faint from the fear.

“You’re a feisty thing, aren’t you? How ’bout you and I act out a scene from one of your trashy novels?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Stop that!” She was appalled when her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Get out of here!”

He grabbed the end of the broom and they struggled for control. He yanked it away from her and flung it across the room. Sofia looked for something else to use as a weapon, but there was little to choose from. She grabbed a tube of cloth and swung it at him. She hit his shoulder.

“Whoa there, girlie. You’ve got quite an arm on you.” But then he grabbed the end of the tube as he’d done with the broom.

There was no way she could win this battle. She needed to get away. She moved right, then quickly changed direction when he came after her and managed to get to the door leading to the alley. The lock slowed her down, and he grabbed her, but his hold lessened when she stomped hard on his foot.

The door opened and she ran through it, down the alley, with Bonwitter in fast pursuit.

The street. The main street . . . just a few more yards . . .

She burst out of the alley and immediately ran to a man walking with a woman on his arm. “Please, help me! A man is chasing—”

Bonwitter ran out from the alley and pulled up short.

“Say there,” said her savior. “What do you mean running after this young lady?”

With his chest heaving, Bonwitter ran a hand through his greasy hair, tugged at his vest and coat, and pointed at Sofia. “This isn’t over.” Then he walked away.

The woman put her arm around Sofia. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not fine. You’re shaking.” She turned to the man. “William, let’s get this girl home.”

That sounded wonderful, and Sofia could think of nothing better than to be upstairs with Mamma. But she remembered the back door to the shop was open. The gas lamps were flaming. She needed to lock up. “Can you bring me to the back door of the shop, please? I’ll be fine once I’m inside.”

The couple escorted her down the alley, and the man insisted on waiting until he heard the bolt on the door lock up tight.

Home, get home
became Sofia’s goal. She picked up the tube of fabric and rolled the material smooth, then looked around for the broom. It was on the far side of the storeroom, amid the shadows.

Suddenly, her ordeal returned to her with fresh teeth and she was newly afraid. There was no way she could turn out the lamps. No way she could venture onto the street and up the stairs to her apartment. Bonwitter might be waiting for her.

Sofia looked toward the alley window, half expecting to see him peering in at her. She moved into the workroom and was beginning to go into the lobby when she started to worry after
those
windows. If Bonwitter was outside he would be able to see her, stalk her.

She closed the curtain of the workroom tight, and did the same with the door to the storeroom. The workroom was safe—or safe-er.

Yet standing there exposed
 . . .
Sofia crawled under Mamma’s worktable and pulled the chair in behind her. She scooted into a corner and drew her knees to her chest to wait out the night.

Keep me safe. Keep me safe. . . .

Sofia started to wakefulness at the sound of a door opening. Within seconds she remembered where she was, and why. Had Bonwitter come back?

Her heart beat wildly, and she pulled her feet even closer to her body, making herself as small as possible. Maybe if she held her breath, he wouldn’t know she was—

“Sofia?”

Mamma!

Sofia pushed the chair away so she could exit her hiding place. “Here, Mamma. In here!”

Mamma came through the curtain and, with one hand to her back, held the other one out to Sofia, helping her crawl from under the table and to standing. “What are you doing? You didn’t come up and it’s the middle of the night and—”

“Bonwitter was here. He was going to hurt me and—”

The details didn’t matter. Mamma was there. She was safe.

For now.

M
amma knocked on the bathroom door. “Sofia, come. We’ll be late.”

Sofia stood behind the door, hugging herself. The memory of her encounter with Bonwitter enveloped her like a dense fog. “I’m not feeling well this morning, Mamma. Make my excuses to Mrs. Flynn.”

Mamma’s voice softened. “I know you had a hard night,
piccolina
, but you can’t let that man keep you from making a living.”

She edged away from Mamma’s words and stepped into the bathtub, sinking down amid its high cast-iron walls. She pulled her knees to her chest as she’d done in her hiding place under the worktable. If only she had a blanket to drape over her head, she would truly feel—

“Please, Sofia . . .”

“I just can’t Mamma. Not when he’s still out there.”

At first Mamma didn’t reply; then she said, “I’ll talk to Mrs. Flynn first thing and she’ll get word to Mr. Standish. He will come and make everything right.”

But would he? In spite of his efforts—and the efforts of the police—Bonwitter was running free.

Free to hurt me.

Sofia heard the front door closing and the muffled sound of Mamma’s feet upon the stairs.

And then silence—an awful silence that made Sofia fear the sound of her own breathing, the beating of her own heart.

She scrambled out of the tub, and out of the apartment. Being with the ladies would ease her fears.

Perhaps.

“Oh dear. Pardon me,” Lucy said.

Rowena looked askance as Lucy helped her with her morning dress. “If you don’t mind my asking, am I hearing hunger pangs?”

Lucy covered her midsection with a hand. The pains had plagued her all night, receding for a time, only to grab on with new vengeance.

Rowena turned to face her. “When was the last time you ate?”

Lucy decided to ignore the half scone because it seemed so pitiful. “Yesterday morning.”

“Why haven’t you eaten the other meals?”

Lucy wasn’t sure how much she should say. To bring the wrath of a family member down upon the servants would not help her situation. But the fact remained, she needed to eat. “I don’t feel at ease eating with the others.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve treated me in a manner far above most—”

“This is ridiculous. They should rejoice in your treatment, not condemn you for it.” She walked toward the bell pull that would summon a servant.

Lucy rushed to stop her. “Please don’t.”

Rowena studied her a moment. “Is the situation that bad?”

Lucy shrugged. And yet, she
was
living in a no-man’s-land between the servants and the family.

“This is ridiculous.” Before Lucy could stop her, Rowena rang for help.

“You really don’t need to intervene.”

“It appears I do. You must have sustenance. I need you healthy.”

Lucy conceded. “I
will
work better if my stomach is full.”

“I need you healthy because you are my friend.”

Lucy was touched.

There was a knock on the door and Sadie entered. “Yes, miss?”

“I’m giving you a special assignment, Sadie. Do you think you can manage it?”

Sadie nodded. “Of course, miss.”

“I’m assigning you the job of bringing Miss Scarpelli her meals, up here to her room.”

Sadie’s face fell. “Up here?”

“Three meals a day, without fail. Do you understand?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Starting with breakfast. As soon as possible.”

Sadie bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, miss.” She nodded at Lucy, but there was a tightening of resentment in her eyes.

Oh well. At least she would eat.

Lucy cut the thread and held the dinner dress for a final inspection. One more down. Dozens to go.

As she tackled the repair of Rowena’s wardrobe, Lucy wished Rowena had done a lesser job of creating a need for Lucy’s services. Without the benefit of a sewing machine, the handwork was tedious and seemed never ending.

And yet, Lucy also didn’t want the work to be done too soon. When else would she ever get a chance to be in such a house, in such a place?

She hung the dress upon the rack and detoured to the window. The grounds beckoned, and Lucy remembered Rowena’s words said just this morning.
“You are not a prisoner in this house, Lucy. Do your work, but also feel free to go outside and take a stroll. There is a lovely Cliff Walk that edges all the properties and the sea. To the homeowners’ chagrin, it’s public. But by all means, take advantage of it. You’ll find the views of the water breathtaking—though please be careful. The rocks can be treacherous.”

While she made up her mind, Lucy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The confident breeze that entered the opened window was starkly different from its meek brother in the city, that pitiful draft that vainly tried to break the heat. This ocean breeze had substance and was strengthened by an aroma so fresh that Lucy
had
to find its source. It called to her, luring her to join it out-of-doors.

Since she had the permission, the very encouragement, of her mistress, Lucy put on her hat, secured it with a pin, and set out for the sea.

Lucy slipped out a side entrance of the house and made her way across the grass, through a formal garden, toward the sea. She purposely chose a course that kept her slightly hidden from view. She didn’t want anyone in the house to look after her and wonder. Nor did she want to run into one of the outside workers, who might question who she was and why she was trespassing on the Langdon property.

She soon found the Cliff Walk on the other side of a low stone wall. It was barely wide enough for two and meandered in either direction, tracing the edge of the manicured properties, offering an accessible divide between land and sea.

She turned south and began to walk. The narrow path, with land on her right and a sharp drop-off to the rocks on her left, demanded her attention, and the only time she could enjoy the view was when she stopped walking. As she did now.

The ocean stretched before her, meeting the sky. She remembered being on the ship to America, standing next to her father.

“See how the horizon line is always at the level of your eyes?” Papa had said. And she’d stood and stooped and sat, marveling at this wonder of wonders.

“But it’s so far away, Papa. Is America really out there?”

“So I’ve heard.”

“What will we find there?”

“Whatever we seek,” he said.
“Chi cerca trova.”
Seek and you shall find.

But had they found what they’d sought? Surely her mother and father hadn’t sought poverty, deplorable living conditions, or an early death.

The waves crashed upon the rocks below with such power that Lucy started.

With her sudden movement, her boot slipped upon the small stones on the walk.

And off the edge.

She slid down a short embankment, landing on a narrow ledge. Unloosed pebbles continued from the ledge to their death in the water below.

Her heart pulsed wildly in her throat. Just a few inches more and she too would have tumbled to the sea.

Lucy grappled for handholds. She pressed her cheek and her body against the earthen wall. Surely the frantic beating of her heart would push her away from safety, sending her hurling backward into the greedy sea.

She carefully looked over her shoulder at the guilty waves. They’d come dangerously close to distracting her right into a catastrophe.

Help me. Please help me.

Her prayer was an embarrassment. Why should God help her? She’d ignored Him more oft than not. If she wanted to get out of this predicament,
she
needed to find a way back to the path that mocked her. But how? It rose above her, a few inches higher than her head.

I wish I’d told someone where I was going.

She carefully resituated her feet upon their tenuous ledge, and felt shivers course up her spine as if the sea were a boogeyman intent on catching her. The sound of the waves, crashing upon the shore—too close—intensified her need to get back up to the path in all its dubious safety.

Calm down, Lucy. You can do this. One step, one handhold at a time.

Her eyes grazed across the rocks, dirt, and plants that covered the wall before her. If she put her left foot there, and held on up there with her right hand . . . If only she could let go enough to rid herself of her stupid hat so she could fully see, then—

A man appeared in her sightline, on the path to her left, carefully peering over at her. “Hello there. Are you all right?”

It struck her as a silly question. “Let’s just say I didn’t plan to be teetering on this ledge.”

“Are you sure?” he said. “For it does offer an exquisite view of the waves.”

She was in no mood to banter. “If you please? Help me up.”

The young man dropped to his knees and studied her situation, his blue eyes darting from one outcropping to the next. “I think if you walk a bit to the right you can step on that flat rock there, which will lift you up enough for me to get my hands around your arms.”

“You can’t lift—”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No.”

“Then you have no choice but to trust me.”

He spoke the truth and went over the plan again, adding a few more details of where she should put her hands and feet. He looked at her hat warily. “I think it will work best if we both rid ourselves of our hats.”

Gladly. Heartened by his presence, Lucy kept hold of the world with one hand while removing her hatpin with the other. She dropped it into the sea. Then she handed her hat to the man. He removed his own, revealing a shock of unruly dark blond hair.

“Are you ready, then?” he asked.

“I am.” The waves crashed beneath her, mocking her. They were also ready to receive her as an offering if things went terribly wrong.

The man stooped directly above the place they had talked about, then changed his mind and got to his knees again. “When I have you, I’ll need you to swing your leg up to the path.”

Any thoughts of the action being unladylike were quickly dismissed as Lucy’s survival mode took hold. “Agreed.”

“Then let’s do it. Right foot on the flat rock . . .”

He led her through the plan, just as he’d laid it out. She felt his hands lock around her forearms and begin to pull her upward.