No Other Love (15 page)

“I'd say so. This is my work and it fits the measurements exactly. It's no wonder he needs another pair, if this is what becomes of them. I can start on them later this week and have a pair ready for you by Monday next.”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary, thank you,” Rose said, the words tumbling out one after the other. “His mother insisted I check back with her before placing the order. But thank you so much for your time.”

Of course this made no sense to the glove maker, but she couldn’t worry about that. She had what she'd come for.

The shopkeeper frowned at her, confused by her sudden reversal.

“Whatever you say, miss. Come back again if you decide you want them made.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you,” Rose replied before rushing out of the shop.

Without a word Vivian followed her out onto the walkway, where the two of them stopped out of sight of the shop. Vivian grasped Rose's hands in hers, her eyes wide and pleading.

“I don’t want you to go back to that house, Rose. It's too dangerous. Who knows what those people are capable of? Stay with us tonight instead and we'll figure out what next to do.”

Rose understood her friend's anxiety, but this was something she couldn’t run away from. If she walked away now, she risked failing her father for good.

“I must finish this, Vivian. Don’t you see? I'm getting closer. I couldn’t possibly back down now.”

“But what will you do?”

“I’m not certain. But at least now I know the truth. My own doubts are satisfied.”

They ate a subdued supper together, with Edward casting searching looks at Rose and Vivian but forgoing any questions. Rose made sure not to linger afterward, for she hadn’t much time to get back before the sun went down.

Walking back to Cider Hill with the glove, she wondered if she were finally close to finishing what she’d come for. Soon, perhaps, she could go home. The thought no longer gave her the comfort it once did, for while she missed her aunt terribly, the one person she wanted most wouldn’t be there. She couldn’t act on her love for Luke, but she felt its pull on her regardless. She even thought she heard his voice, calling to her from somewhere far away, like the ghost of the happiness she’d so fleetingly known.

She was still immersed in these gloomy thoughts when she returned to the servants’ quarters. Lydia leapt up from her bed when Rose entered their room, her expression stricken.

“Oh, Rose, thank goodness you’re back!”

“What is it, Lydia? Tell me quickly,” she demanded, grabbing Lydia's hands to still them.

“Not long after you left this morning a girl came by looking for work, and Mrs. Fletcher hired her on the spot. You’re to be dismissed. She says you’re more trouble than you’re worth, and the supper party was the last straw.

Here Lydia paused to catch her breath. She stared at Rose imploringly, as if Rose herself could resolve the crisis.

Rose stood numbly as the news sank in. She felt no surprise. How could she, when every day she’d been expecting such a thing? The wonder was that she’d lasted as long as she had.

“I suppose I ought to find Mrs. Craig,” she said.

Lydia was nearly in tears, but Rose felt nothing as she left the room. She couldn't let herself feel, for she couldn’t bear the idea of failure. Absently she smoothed down her hair and dress, as if that could make any difference at all.

She walked through the downstairs rooms until she found Mrs. Craig in the foyer. The housekeeper stood with her hands on her ample hips, her back to Rose.

“Abigail, I believe I requested yesterday that you polish this banister. It looks as if you hadn’t touched it.”

Rose, thinking she had never heard Mrs. Craig sound so cross, stopped a few feet away. Abigail gasped when she caught sight of Rose. Mrs. Craig turned, her look of annoyance fading to one of something else, regret or resignation. But though her mouth was pressed into a grim line, her eyes softened as they looked at her.

“Wait for me in the servants’ hall, Rose,” she said, sighing. “I’ll be in directly.”

Rose did as she was told, feeling as if she were awaiting her own execution. Perhaps she should simply leave, pack her things and never look back. But what if there was still a chance to change their minds? She couldn’t leave without trying, not when so much depended on her staying. But at least she’d been paid her week’s wages this morning. That was something.

After several minutes Mrs. Craig entered and sat down heavily across the table from her.

“Do you know why you're here?”

“Only what Lydia told me when I arrived,” Rose replied. “Mrs. Fletcher feels I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

The housekeeper seemed surprised by her blunt reply, but Rose saw no point in being circumspect.

“That’s correct. I assume you understand her reasons as well as I.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in defending myself?”

Mrs. Craig sighed and rubbed the corners of her eyes in a rare gesture of fatigue.

“I’m sorry, Rose, but I’m afraid there’s no changing her mind. I don’t know why things have been so difficult for you here. It doesn’t seem to have been your doing, but my hands are tied. You’re to pack your things and be gone within the hour.”

Despair filled her as she stood to go, but it wasn’t the housekeeper’s fault she was dismissed. Mrs. Craig had done all she could for her from the beginning.

“Thank you for your kindness. I truly am grateful for your help.”

Mrs. Craig nodded her head in acknowledgement and stood up as well.

“Good luck, dear,” she said, enveloping Rose in a heartfelt embrace.

Lydia was waiting just outside the servant’s hall when Rose left. Rose gave a quick shake of her head and watched as Lydia’s face crumpled in tears. Together the two of them walked up the servants’ stairs and into their room, where Rose began putting her things into her satchel.

The glove seemed to get heavier with every minute that passed. But as much as it meant to her, by itself it likely wasn’t enough to convince anyone who didn’t already believe in Byrne’s guilt.

It was time to go. She looked around one last time, thinking how strange it was that this stark little room had become a place of friendship and comfort.

The two girls embraced, Lydia snuffling onto Rose’s shoulder until Rose pulled away.

“Thank you for being such a good friend to me, Lydia. If not for you, I daresay I wouldn’t have lasted even this long.”

“But where will you go? What will you do?”

“I shall go to Vivian's and catch my breath. This has all happened so quickly, I haven’t had time to think beyond that,” she said, sounding lost even to her own ears.

“It's so unfair,” Lydia said. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Rose reached into her satchel and drew out her good nib pen, a sheaf of paper and a bottle of ink. She handed them to Lydia. “So that you’ll write me,” she said.

“I wouldn’t be able to write a letter if not for you,” Lydia replied, sobbing in earnest now.

Rose was very near tears herself. She was going to miss Lydia, miss everyone far more than she would have guessed, but she mercilessly tamped down her feelings. There would be ample time to cry after she had walked out the door. Leaving in disgrace was bad enough. She would not let anyone see her fall apart.

Rose left their little room only to find Dottie, Abigail and Mrs. Beech waiting in the hallway for her, all of them furious on her behalf. Dottie gave her an ironic smile, her eyes shimmering with tears.

“Who would have thought I’d be so sorry to see you go?” she said, making Rose laugh despite herself.

After many well wishes and promises to write, Rose made it through the hall and down the stairs. She was intent on gaining the rear entrance without running into anyone else when she stopped cold.

A rising tide of cleansing fury swept through her at the injustice her family had suffered at the hands of the Fletchers. The devil take them, she had seen quite enough of the servants’ entrance. Reversing course she made for the front door. She strode with purpose, determination building with each step. Somehow, she vowed, she'd find a way to finish what she’d started.

She was passing by the drawing room when Byrne stepped out in front of her. She hadn’t seen him since he’d gone to Albany several weeks ago, and he was the very last person she wanted to see now.

“There now, what's your hurry, Rose? Have you some sort of engagement?” he asked innocently.

“I’m no longer in your family's service,” she said impatiently. “Let me pass.”

Byrne's face bespoke surprise, though whether it was feigned or sincere she couldn’t tell.

“What will you do now?” he asked, refusing to move out of her way.

Rose's poise was wearing thin. She was furious, scared, and disgusted.

Her eyes narrowed as she answered him. “You needn’t concern yourself with me,” she said, an edge to her voice. “You’ve already done far too much.”

“Not nearly enough. Come work for me,” he said eagerly, deaf to her anger. “I guarantee the work will be much lighter and the accommodations more comfortable.”

Rose said nothing, too stunned for a moment to respond. It was impossible. Just being near him filled her with revulsion. And yet, though there was danger in the prospect, working for him would bring her closer to the answers she sought.

Part of her couldn’t believe she was even considering his offer. She didn’t trust him for a moment, and she might not be able to keep him at arm's length. But it needn't be for long. She would talk to his servants and glean what information she could. If it became too treacherous, she would simply leave.

“Very well, I accept your offer,” she replied.

“Splendid,” Byrne crowed. “Wait for me by my carriage. I'll just be a moment.”

Somehow Rose propelled herself forward. It appeared she would have a final scene with Mrs. Fletcher, for the formidable lady of the house stood rooted to the floor near the entrance, as if unable to believe Rose's audacity. Sensing the drama, the servants had appeared as well. Some peered over the railing from the second floor, others stood in doorways watching the scene unfold.

Mrs. Fletcher stood rigidly, her voice cutting.

“I see you go out as you came in, looking for trouble.”

“
Audaces fortuna iuvat
,” Rose replied, unable to resist a parting jibe in Latin for good measure. Hopefully what Virgil said was true and fortune did indeed favor the bold.

Rose watched as Mrs. Fletcher’s complexion paled in fury and her eyes narrowed.

“Show me your satchel. I should like to see if you had the nerve to steal anything on your way out.”

Rose could only stare at her, her face hot with outrage. Yet in the midst of her reaction she suddenly understood that Mrs. Fletcher was threatened by her. Perhaps because her son acted so shamefully around her, perhaps because Rose didn’t fit her notion of a servant. The realization calmed her. Let Mrs. Fletcher do what she would. She couldn’t hurt her any more.

With a poise that maddened the mistress like nothing else could have, Rose offered up her bag and smiled as if she were appeasing a difficult child.

“By all means, though I wonder you have time to bother with such things. I would have thought a woman in your position would leave such demeaning tasks to a servant.”

Rose could hardly believe the things coming from her own mouth. Never had she spoken to anyone in such a manner, and yet she felt freer than she had since arriving.

“Get out of here this instant,” Mrs. Fletcher ground out in fury.

Just then Byrne entered the foyer, oblivious to the tension.

“Oh, hello Mother. I hope you don’t mind, seeing as how you sacked her, but I've decided to give Rose a place in my household. Say you’re not angry,” he pleaded childishly.

But Mrs. Fletcher could take no more. In an angry whirl of skirts she turned on her heel and marched upstairs. Whatever had buoyed Rose through the altercation deserted her as soon as Mrs. Fletcher was out of sight. Refusing to look at anyone, she made for the door and didn’t stop until she was outside.

Byrne was right behind her.

“I’m pleased to see you’re so anxious to get to my house. Fear not, we'll be there in no time. Now then, step on up.”

But Rose refused his hand as she climbed into the carriage, unable to bear even so slight a touch. She tried to ignore her rising sense of panic, but now that she was on her way to Byrne’s home, it would not be subdued. Merely sitting next to him in his carriage made her feel ill. Her father would have hated that she put herself in such danger, and it was clearer with every step the horses took that she’d made a terrible mistake.

It was full dark but for the moon, and as the carriage moved toward its final destination, she felt as if she were being plunged into a darkness from which she’d never return.

“You can’t imagine how happy I am you’re coming home with me,” Nathan said, breaking into her thoughts. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

A chill ran through her at this, but she stared resolutely out the window, saying nothing.

“There’s something between us, Rose. I know you feel it too.”

She turned and looked at him. “All I want is to work in your house. Nothing more.”

“Once we’re used to each other I feel certain you’ll feel differently,” he replied with absolute calm.

 “Please stop the carriage,” she choked out, sickened beyond bearing.

“There’s no need to be frightened. I’ll take care of you.”

“Whatever scenario you’ve imagined for us, I assure you it will never happen,” Rose said, her voice shaking now, her breath shallow with rising fear. “I insist you either take me to my friend’s house in Boston or leave me off here.”

“I know I can make you feel for me,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her. “You’ll forget all about Luke soon enough.”

Rose couldn’t believe what was happening. Surely Byrne had lost his mind. Truly panicked now, she reached for the door, more afraid of him than of jumping from a moving carriage. She was stopped by his vise-like grip on her arm.

“I can’t let you do that, Rose. I’ve waited too long for this to let you go now.”