Banished Love (26 page)

“I was her maid, and yet she had tremendous faith in me,” Florence stated. “She insisted I go to school. That I become a teacher,” she said. “Mrs. Kruger wanted me to have another way besides service to support myself after she died.”

“Where is she now?” I asked.

“She died four years ago,” Florence whispered. “Right after my world fell apart again.”

“Why tell me the other story about your family?” I asked in a tentative voice, not wanting to sound critical.

“What would you say, Clarissa?” Florence asked. “Would you tell people that your family didn’t want you, so they left you at an orphanage, never to see you again? Would you?” Florence demanded. “Would you admit your mother lied to you?” She waved broadly at the room. “Would you acknowledge you have brothers, sisters, out there that you will never know?” she asked, her voice breaking. She brushed at the tears that continued to fall.

“I can’t begin to imagine what you went through, Florence, so I don’t know what I would have said. Yet, I can’t imagine living a lie. Creating a lie to live by for so long.”

“That’s one of the reasons Gabriel didn’t like me,” Florence choked out. “My inability to feel regret at having created a different past for myself.” She shook her head. “You live a lie long enough, it becomes a sort of truth for you,” Florence said in a raspy voice. “But you don’t know what it does to you to know you aren’t wanted.”

“You are wanted, Florence,” I said. I leaned forward, gripping her hands. “You are wanted here at the school as an excellent teacher. You are a dear friend to me. I can’t tell you how many days I would have been lost without you. Mrs. Kruger obviously wanted you, believed in you. And it’s not common for the rich to worry about their maids.”

Florence sniffed again. “She was eccentric,” she said as a way of agreement. “I know all of that is true, but the people who should have wanted me the most, didn’t. And nothing can take away that pain. Nothing.”

I nodded. “How did you meet Richard?” I asked.

“We should never have met. Yet we did. Mrs. Kruger loved sweets. Always sent one of us out every day to her favorite bakery. One day, her bakery wasn’t open. The sign on the door read Closed for Remodel.” Florence smiled, remembering the long-ago day. “I panicked, not knowing what I’d do. I stood outside the door, staring at it, like a simpleton, as though I couldn’t read the basic note. Richard was behind me, and he leaned over my shoulder, read it aloud and then looked down at me. I can still see the dimple in his cheek, the amusement in his blue eyes. So handsome.”

I blushed, thinking of his brother.

“He had been sent out to buy sweets for his aunt, for an important tea,” she mused. “But he knew another good baker, so he led me there.” She met my eyes, regret, longing, loss reflected in her eyes. “We met. We continued to meet. We fell in love and were to marry.” She paused.

“What happened, Florence?”

“I made a terrible error,” she admitted. “An innocent error. But an error.” A long pause ensued. “I trusted the wrong person.”

I waited for Florence to speak, watching her gather herself, attempting to form the words.

“Richard had told me how much he disliked his aunt, yet I couldn’t imagine her being as horrible as she truly was. As she truly is,” Florence said. “All I could focus on was that he still had family. Brothers. An aunt, uncle, cousins. People who wanted him. People who took him in after his parents’ deaths. I thought that showed love. I hadn’t realized it was her way of controlling them. Of punishing her sister in her own way, even though she was dead.”

I watched Florence, startled by her insight.

“I adored Gabriel. He was the older brother I had always wanted,” she said in a low voice. “He looked out for me, took care of me, teased me and treated me as a McLeod. Made me feel as though I belonged. I had spent over ten years not knowing what that felt like, and suddenly I had people who cared for me and treated me like family. Gabriel defended Richard against his aunt so we could have time together. I think that’s why it hurt so much when he turned on me.”

“Florence, what happened?” I asked, ready to explode with pent-up nervousness and curiosity.

“Mrs. Masterson found out about me. I’m not sure how as Richard and Gabriel were good at keeping secrets. One day their cousin Henry called at Mrs. Kruger’s. Came for tea when no one came for tea. He was tall, handsome and charming. He wanted to meet me. See who had so captured his cousin’s fancy.” Florence looked away. She turned her gaze back toward me. “I was flattered and unprepared to have such attention paid to me. I was going to school by this time, but, at heart, I was a poor simple orphan girl. He knew what to say to make me feel special, to divulge more than I should.

“He had heard inconsistencies in my story, learned about my coming from the Home. He had made inquiries. He continued to call randomly for a few months. I thought him charming, a cultured counterpoint to Richard’s rougher manners. Finally, one day, Henry called for tea with Mrs. Kruger—who by this time had warmed to him—with his mother, Mrs. Masterson. Unbeknownst to me, he somehow knew that Richard and Gabriel were going to arrive in the middle of tea.” She closed her eyes momentarily before opening them, exuding anger. “I had begun to drink tea with Mrs. Kruger and her guests. Mrs. Kruger believed that, since I was studying to be a teacher, I should begin to learn how to interact in another social realm.

“I remember that day perfectly. I sat at the round table, practicing what it must be like to be a lady serving tea. Imagining in my mind what it would be like to be Richard’s wife. And then, looking up, with the teapot in my hand, in the midst of serving Henry, to see Richard and Gabriel striding through the door.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as though the memory were too much for her to bear.

“Winnie had let them in,” Florence murmured. “Winnie, the other maid. Richard seemed so happy, so confident. He called out a happy ‘hello’ to Mrs. Kruger, moving to kiss her on the cheek. He was so good to her,” Florence whispered. “He and Gabriel were on the verge of moving out, to a new home. He was to start as an apprentice to Old Man Harris. His spirits were high. In a few years, we’d be able to marry,” she continued. “We had everything planned. Then he walked through that doorway, moved to the table, with Gabriel on his heels, to find me serving tea to his cousin and Aunt. His hated cousin and Aunt.

“I hadn’t realized, until that moment, I was being played for a fool. A complete fool,” she said bitterly, shaking her head. “It seemed as though everything was in slow motion, watching Richard realize who it was. Seeing Gabriel turn nearly red with anger. Hearing Henry talk about me as though I weren’t present, talking about my past as though it were common knowledge. My real past. Watching Richard and Gabriel realize I had lied to them. I can still see the sense of betrayal on Richard’s face. Then Henry mentioned all of his lovely recent visits for tea, and I thought Gabriel would do me bodily damage. Richard just stood there, frozen.” Tears flowed from her eyes. “How could I have been such a fool?”

“You didn’t know that would happen, Florence,” I replied. “You have faith in people. And they betrayed you.”

“I lost everything again!” she wailed, rubbing at the tears pouring down her cheeks. “I lost Richard, Gabriel, my dreams for a future. My hopes for a family. I soon lost Mrs. Kruger. All I had was the training to be a teacher. So, I taught. I’ve learned not to dream. It doesn’t hurt when you don’t dream,” Florence whispered, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe her face and blow her nose.

“Didn’t you try to explain to Richard?” I asked, confused.

“Gabriel wouldn’t let me near him. Protected him like one of those overprotective mama bears I’ve read about. I’ve never seen anyone so mad before,” she said. “And not so again, until I saw him recently. He said horrible, horrible things. He accused me of playing with Richard, stringing him along to meet Henry. To meet someone better. As though I would meet someone better than Richard.

“Gabriel’s got a long memory, Rissa. Don’t forget that, but he’s a good man. Just like his brother.” Her voice cracked again, as she bent over at the waist, placing her face in her hands, sobbing.

I patted her gently on the back, uncertain what to say, knowing there was nothing to say. Finally Florence stopped crying. “Florence, come for tea,” I urged.

“No, thank you, Rissa. I don’t relish being near your stepmother.”

She blew her nose again. Her face showed remarkably little effect from her crying, a feat I envied.

“Then let’s go out for tea,” I encouraged. “My treat.”

“No, Clarissa,” she said in a stronger voice, balling up the handkerchief in her hand, looking at it. “I’m used to being alone.”

“Just because you are used to it, doesn’t mean you have to remain alone.”

She shook her head, patted my hand as though comforting me and rose. “I hope your curiosity has been satisfied.”

“Florence,” I replied in a low voice. “That’s not fair. I care about you. You’re my friend.”

I saw her blush and look toward the floor. “Forgive me, Rissa,” she whispered. “I have a way of becoming prickly when I feel vulnerable.” She met my gaze with a melancholic half smile as she continued to sniffle.

I smiled slowly, gripping her hand. “I know exactly what you need,” I murmured. “You need to meet my friend, Sophie. Let’s call on her for tea.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Florence protested, running a hand down the front of her gown.

“You can and you will,” I argued, brooking no refusal today. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 27

I MARCHED DOWN THE STREET, almost towing Florence along beside me, my arm hooked through hers. I refused to allow her to walk separately, as I knew she would flee at the first opportunity. Today we climbed over the Hill to Beacon Street. I was hopeful the exertions would clear my mind of the roiling thoughts Florence’s story had unleashed. I could not fathom my family giving me away. I did not want to imagine what that would do to my spirit.

We arrived at Sophie’s, breathless and in desperate need of refreshment. The green shutters gleamed in the sunlight next to the windows, and we stood in front of the green door. Carriages bustled past on Beacon Street, I heard children playing in the Common, and birds trilled in the trees above us. I grasped the brass knocker, tapping loudly on the door, waiting impatiently for the butler to answer. Florence stood beside me.

“Oh, it’s you, miss,” the formally attired butler intoned, not waiting for a card. “I will determine if Mrs. Chickering is at home.”

Florence and I entered the subdued entranceway, the upper walls a pale mauve satin wallpaper and the bottom half a crisp white wainscoting. “I really shouldn’t be here,” Florence pleaded, eyeing the door.

“If you will follow me,” the butler interrupted any response I might have given. We turned to follow him upstairs into the front parlor. Sophie sat alone on a comfortable settee, reading a book that she set down with a loud
thunk
upon our entrance. Her aquamarine eyes flashed with curiosity upon seeing me enter with Florence. Her emerald-green bombazine dress complimented the yellow satin of the matching parlor suite.

The room, filled with the parlor suite and a smattering of side tables, had a welcoming air with overflowing ferns sitting in a bow-fronted window and books scattered throughout. Instead of walls covered with overlapping paintings, there was one focal painting of a mountain glen, with light sparkling through the branches at dawn.

“Harrumph,” she grumbled. “You’ve finally decided to return.” She glared at me in a scolding manner.

“I’m sorry, Sophie. Life has become quite hectic of late,” I replied, smiling. I knew she was not truly angry with me.

“And you are?” Sophie turned toward Florence, setting her bright, almost fierce, aquamarine eyes on Florence.

“I am Florence, Florence Butler, ma’am,” Florence said, a hint of steel in her tone. “I work with Clarissa at the school.”

“And are you a suffragette?” Sophie demanded.

“No.”

“No? No?” Sophie gasped out. “What is this nonsense, bringing such a girl by, Clarissa?”

I laughed. “Sophie, she may not have dedicated her time to the cause, but she’s forward thinking. Maybe more so than you or I am.”

Florence was embarrassed and refused to say any more.

“Well, girl, speak up,” Sophie demanded. “What are your thoughts on the vote? On women’s rights?” She leaned back against her chair, watching Florence.

“I would like to have the vote,” Florence responded. “I would like to have the ability to express what I want.”

“What about leaving it to the men in your life to do just that for you?” Sophie challenged.

“Well, as I have no men in my life, there is no one to look out for my interests. And I find that most have a very limited view of charity,” Florence said. She reached for her cup of tea, the cup rattling slightly, betraying her nerves.

“Well said,” Sophie nearly cheered. “I like this girl, Clarissa.”

“I knew you would,” I said with a broad smile.

“How come you haven’t visited sooner?” Sophie asked Florence, picking up a biscuit to nibble on.

“I, ah, well, I…”

Sophie looked over her clothes with an assessing eye. “You are rather shabbily dressed. Were you afraid your poverty would prevent you from being received?” At Florence’s blush, Sophie snorted. “Nonsense, girl,” she said. “We need more strong hardworking women like you in the movement. Women who actually know what it is to toil for a living wage, rather than those who sit around drinking tea and gossiping all day long.” She eyed Florence again, taking in her slight discomfort at the surroundings. “Tell me, Florence, a bit about your background.”

“Oh, I, ah, it’s really not that interesting,” Florence stammered.

“It’s always interesting to me,” Sophie encouraged with a small smile.

“Before I started teaching, I worked for Mrs. Kruger as a maid,” she said.

“Mrs. Kruger? Old Mrs. Kruger who lived in Chester Square?” Sophie beamed. “She was a fine old woman, wasn’t she?” Her tone was nearly reverent as she spoke of her.