No Other Love (2 page)

How she would have loved to lie down, close her eyes and lose herself in sleep. Instead she comforted herself with the knowledge that she would not be here long. She was here only to find justice for her father, after which she would never set foot in Cider Hill again.

It took but a minute to hang her clothes on the pegs and tuck her unmentionables into the bottom drawer of the dresser. When everything was in its place she made her way back though the hallway, down the steep stairs, and into the kitchen where Mrs. Lynch, the cook, explained her duties. Before long she was armed with a pail of water and wire brush, scrubbing out the cookstove.

***

Luke sat across from his father in the quiet of the study, sifting through his survey maps and trying to concentrate. Unfortunately, all he could think about was Rose Stratton.

He’d behaved badly, too angry and embarrassed to act civilized. He’d not fallen off a horse since he was a boy of twelve, and it was damn aggravating to do so at the age of nine and twenty.

The trees lining the road had screened her from view, but he’d also been riding too hard. Nor did it help that he’d been worrying that the railroad line was going to take longer than he’d anticipated to complete, keeping him in Massachusetts far longer than he ever intended. He’d only been back for a few weeks and already he was itching to head west again. But his father needed him and he wasn’t one to leave a job unfinished, so here he’d be until the line was completed.

Which meant he’d be seeing a good deal more of Rose Stratton.

She’d been far kinder than she needed to be, considering how beastly he’d acted. She’d even supported him all the way to the door, a fact that would mortify him for some time to come. Even worse, he’d laid the blame for his accident entirely at her feet. Quite the gentleman.

But how had she come to learn Latin, and why the reference to danger? Was she simply anxious about her new situation? Surely she didn’t imagine that Cider Hill posed any danger to her?

She was full of surprises to be sure, but it was the moment she took off her bonnet that had left him dumbstruck. Until then he had caught very little of her features. Then suddenly the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on was standing before him, her face like a cameo with its delicately sculpted cheekbones, full and finely shaped mouth and small, patrician nose. Silky tendrils of hair the color of autumn leaves had slipped from her coil and tickled her neck.

This was the woman he’d leaned on as he sweated through his jacket. She’d looked too slender and fine-boned to have withstood the weight of a brute like him. Too refined to be working as a domestic.

So deep was he in his own thoughts, it took him several moments to notice that his father was asking him a question.

“Did Whistler’s plan make sense to you?” Jonas repeated, looking at him curiously from behind his desk.

It took Luke a moment to regain his focus. “What? Oh, yes. I’m in favor of following his suggestions. He’s the best engineer there is as far as I’m concerned. But we have to do our part and get the land issues settled first.”

“I agree. I’ll discuss it with Nathan again this week.”

Luke nodded his head to show agreement, though in truth he was spectacularly uninterested in the railroad at just that moment.

“I wonder what Mrs. Craig has decided to do with the new maid?” he asked, unable to help himself.

“Why do you ask? Do you harbor ill feelings over the accident?”

“Quite the opposite,” Luke replied. “I hope she doesn’t think ill of
me
, after the way I behaved.”

“I shouldn’t worry,” Jonas replied, donning his spectacles and turning his attention back to the documents before him.

“She struck me as capable and well-spoken,” Luke went on, though it was clear his father had lost interest in the topic. “I only hope she’s given a position that will make use of her abilities.”

“Mrs. Craig will have it all well in hand,” replied Jonas without looking up.

It was true that Mrs. Craig ran the household impeccably. But what if she didn’t realize how unusual Rose was? It would ease his mind to look into the matter. Didn’t he owe it to the new maid, given how badly he’d treated her?

 He stood up abruptly, the pain in his ankle a sharp reminder of what happened when he moved too fast. A reminder he ignored.

Now his father did look up.

“Is there a problem, Luke? You’ve been distracted ever since dinner.”

“It's nothing. I suppose I’m just a bit restless. I think I'll step out for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

“By all means. Go take some air.”

Thus freed, Luke headed out into the hallway, limping only slightly.

***

As soon as Rose finished cleaning the cookstove she was put to work washing the myriad pots, pans and dishes that resulted from the several courses the Fletchers and their houseguests had consumed at the midday meal. The work was arduous and the kitchen sweltering, but it was not altogether unpleasant amid the chatter of Lydia and two other maids.

The girls were full of both gossip and useful information. Rose now knew that Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher resided in the house, and that Luke Fletcher had arrived only weeks ago to help see the railroad completed. None of them seemed to know exactly where he’d been before coming home. Apparently he’d been rather peripatetic, traveling in the wilds of the Territories for some years.

“He hasn’t been back to Boston for ages, so no one save Mrs. Craig had ever seen him before,” Lydia said, whispering loudly. “Imagine our surprise when the likes of him showed up. Mercy!”

“You’ll pay him no mind and hope he does the same, if you know what’s good for you,” replied Abigail, a sullen, mousy girl who spent much of her time acting lady’s maid to Mrs. Fletcher. It hadn’t taken Rose long to discern that attending to the difficult mistress would turn even the sunniest disposition gloomy.

“You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Fletcher’s son, Mr. Byrne, but you will,” added Dottie with a dark look. The youngest of them all at perhaps seventeen, she was a stocky brunette with a biting sense of humor and no-nonsense demeanor. “Mr. Byrne works for Mr. Fletcher too, but he has lodgings in Boston, thank goodness for everyone.”

“If only Luke Fletcher came by as often as Mr. Byrne does,” Lydia said longingly.

“Don’t let Mrs. Craig catch you gossiping about the family,” Abigail warned Rose. “She’s been with Mr. Fletcher since before his first wife’s death and won’t tolerate that kind of talk.”

Footsteps sounded in the hallway beyond and they all fell silent, fearing they’d be overheard by the housekeeper. But instead of Mrs. Craig, Luke Fletcher entered through the swinging door.

Immediately his gaze fell on Rose.

In the few hours since she last saw him he seemed to have grown even more handsome. Despite her intention not to feel anything but mistrust for the Fletchers, her face flushed with mortification to be caught hanging over the sink, her face damp with sweat and her hair in disarray. He looked at her and then about the kitchen, clearly displeased.

Mrs. Craig entered the kitchen just behind him.

“Master Luke,” she said, stopping in surprise. “What can I do for you?”

His reply was too low for Rose to hear, and the two of them retreated into the servants’ hall where only the indistinct murmur of their conversation could be heard.

“What do you suppose has happened?” Lydia asked, eyes wide. “Did one of you break something?”

Abigail and Dottie insisted they hadn’t done anything wrong. Still, they were all on edge, wondering if they’d inadvertently committed some terrible error.

Lydia broke the tension with a dramatic sigh. “Even angry he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

“You’ll be singing another tune if it’s something you’ve done,” Dottie countered dryly.

Lydia made a face at her, only to jump in surprise as Mrs. Craig returned, briskly giving instructions for the evening meal. She said nothing to indicate what her conversation with Mr. Fletcher had been about.

As soon as Rose finished cleaning up from dinner she and the cook, Mrs. Beech, began preparations for supper. As the family would have guests joining them, this entailed plucking ten hens, scrubbing and cutting piles of vegetables, and mixing egg whites until they stood up in stiff white peaks and her arm went numb. She had done all of this before for her own family, but never had she cooked on the exhausting scale required here.

As she worked Rose had time to consider things in more detail, and it hit her that although she had made it into the house, as scullery maid she would likely never see beyond the servants’ wing. She would have no excuse to explore the rest of the house or move among the family.

It would be even riskier than she had anticipated proving the family’s role in her father’s murder. She would have to go into rooms in which she had absolutely no business being. And there was no telling when she would even have the opportunity to do that.

Was her effort to get here all for nothing, doomed before it even began? This thought left her so distraught she cut herself while slicing carrots and had to stop to staunch the flow of blood. Despair pulsed through her in time with the throbbing in her hand and it took all her willpower to hold back tears of frustration.

Early in the evening the staff sat down for their own supper. It was Rose’s job to serve the staff, a task she wouldn’t have minded but for the fact that she was dead on her feet.

This was her first chance to meet the two men on staff, a gardener and a groom. Both took their meals with the rest of the servants but, she learned, lived in a small cottage in back of the house. The gardener, a cantankerous older man named George, showed no interest in her whatsoever, but the groom, a young man of about eighteen named Charlie, was more attentive than was strictly proper.

“It’s a real pleasure having a new face around here,” he said, smiling familiarly at her. “Especially a pretty one like yours.” This last was accompanied by a wink.

If she hadn’t been so tired, his cocky attitude might have amused her. As it was, she only smiled wanly and asked if he wanted more gravy.

After the servants’ meal was over and cleaned up, she scurried to keep up with the tide of dishes Lydia and Dottie brought back from the family’s supper. For the next two hours she washed the never-ending stream of serving ware, a task that nearly undid her. How many courses could a person possibly eat? It felt as if she’d been washing dishes forever, and for an army no less.

All that separated her from the guests was the wall between the sink and dining room, and every time Dottie or Lydia came through the swinging door, a burst of conversation followed them. Rose burned with curiosity and sorely wished she were one of the serving maids. If she were able to listen to dinner conversation, she might learn something that would help her understand what happened to her father. Perhaps even now they were discussing the railroad.

Luke Fletcher’s deep voice could occasionally be heard through the doorway. How would it feel to have his full attention for the length of a meal, those dark eyes focused on her once again?

Guilt at this errant thought immediately swamped her. What kind of a daughter entertained such ideas about a man she suspected of killing her father? And what would Will think of her? Her very first day and here she was thinking about another man.

If it had been up to Will, they would already be married, but ever since her father’s death their courtship had stalled. At first she’d been too grief-stricken to want anything but a shoulder to lean on. Before long she was too intent on finding her father’s murderer to think about anything beyond that, even her own future.

But she hadn’t told Will her real reason for coming to Boston. He would never have understood. Instead she said she needed time away and would be going to her friend Vivian’s until she felt well enough to face the farm and all its memories.

“At least promise you’ll marry me when you return,” he’d implored.

It was the night before she was to depart, and he had just taken supper with her and Aunt Olivia. He looked as if he wanted to hold her, or maybe shake her, but instead he thrust his hands into his pockets. He’d never been anything but proper with her.

She didn’t have the heart to deny him her promise, but it felt wrong to make such a vow when her feelings were bent in an entirely different direction. Even so, the promise had been made. She had even let him kiss her.

Rose was jolted out of her recollection by the sound of chairs being pushed back and people rising from the table. The men were retiring to the library, the women to the drawing room. Rose was still cleaning when the guests departed an hour later and the family withdrew upstairs. Lydia and Dottie went to bed soon after.

The house began to settle around her, unfamiliar and disconcerting. She had just started her final mop of the kitchen floor, her last task for the night, when Mrs. Craig appeared, scaring Rose nearly out of her wits. The older woman gave Rose a tired smile.

“There’s been a change of plans, Rose,” she said. “Beginning tomorrow you will no longer be scullery maid. Instead you’ll work in the main rooms and upstairs. Lydia will show you what to do.”

“But why?” Rose asked, utterly bewildered.

Mrs. Craig looked reluctant to answer, but finally she replied.

“Master Luke asked that I reassign you. He doesn’t feel we’re putting you to good use back here.”

“But why should he interfere with the servants?” Rose asked, incredulous.

“I thought perhaps you could tell me,” replied Mrs. Craig, giving Rose a pointed look.

“I haven’t the slightest idea. I only met him this afternoon,” Rose said. Then a new worry occurred to her. “Who will take my place?”

Mrs. Craig frowned. “Dottie will once again be scullery maid,” she answered, clearly unhappy at the prospect. And no wonder. Dottie had been in her new and better position only one day and would now, through no fault of her own, go back to her former duties.

“But that’s terrible!” Rose exclaimed, the consequences of Luke Fletcher’s demand sinking in. “Dottie will hate me. Everyone will hate me. Why must we do as he says?” she asked.