Unveiled (22 page)

Where the hell could she be? Damn her, she had an aptitude for getting into trouble. He knew only that her name was Katie O’Connor, she lived in the city, she was Irish…that he should have known the first time he heard her sing. It still appalled him that she’d betrayed him so completely, but some of his anger had died. In truth, walking through these streets, he was beginning to understand.

Could he really blame her? He shuddered as he pictured her, cleaning a house, scrubbing a floor, walking through these streets, always afraid and wondering where her next meal would come from. That was Katie O’Connor’s life until she’d met Ella Pemberton. Given the choice of remaining herself, or assuming Fan Pemberton’s identity, could he honestly say he would have done differently?

Absently he kicked at a piece of newspaper blowing in the street, barely aware of the curious glances he received. He could understand why she had assumed Fan’s role, especially when he witnessed her affection for Ella. But was he just part of the same scheme? Did she marry him just to be able to continue her new life?

That was the part that ate at him. Sure, he was doing much the same thing, marrying her to secure his own position. But deep within his heart, he knew there was something more. Katie had captivated him from the beginning. He was too jaded to believe in love at first sight, but it was something very close to that. If he had been strictly concerned about the money, he could have easily married one of the Mitchell girls, Margaret Chester…any number of them would have welcomed him. And although he was still furious at Kate, he couldn’t just let her leave like this, especially now. Ella had given them a second chance, and he was damned sure they were going to take it.

“Peaches, gent? You want some fresh peaches?”

“Ale? I got the best beer in the city. Chilled, too!”

They saw his good jacket, his polished shoes, and flocked to get his attention. Christopher ignored them and walked into the nearest dram shop. Several loiterers stared at him curiously, but he went to the man behind the counter and spoke in an authoritative voice.

“Have you ever heard of a family named O’Connor? Seems they live somewhere in the area.”

The burly man exchanged a glance with those waiting inside the doorway, then shrugged, all the while polishing a bottle. “Can’t say that I have.” He squinted suspiciously. “You the law or something?”

Startled, Christopher glanced around and realized why the man had asked. He was well dressed in the poor section of town, obviously a stranger, asking for information about one of them. The man standing beside him spat onto the floor and returned his stare with a challenging smile.

They weren’t going to tell him anything. Embarrassed, Christopher bought a bottle of brandy, then nodded to the man and walked out, aware of the silence that followed.

On the steps of the dram shop, he looked down the street. There were rows and rows of brick houses, any of which could contain the elusive O’Connors. He knew nothing of them, nothing about her family. Were they tradesmen, bricklayers, horsemen, or all servants? He didn’t know where in Ireland they came from, or what part of the city they called home.

A cart passed by, rolling very near the step, and splashed a puddle of water and horse excrement all over Christopher’s polished boots. Outraged, he trudged over to a cab that was waiting at the curb. Somehow he’d find Katie O’Connor.

If it was the last thing he did.

“Now, miss…what did you say your name was?”

“O’Connor,” Katie replied. “Katie O’Connor.”

“That’s right.” Florence Eldridge nodded. “Funny, I can never get the names of my servants straight. You will be expected to keep all twenty-seven rooms in the house clean, and I am very exacting. I want them dusted, the rugs beaten, the floors swept, the windows done monthly. The housekeeper will wash the linens, but I want them changed weekly and scented with lavender. Do you understand all this?”

“Yes.” Katie nodded, smoothing her white apron over her worn black work dress.

The woman stared at her for a moment, then her brow wrinkled as she examined Katie’s face. “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before…. No, it couldn’t possibly be.” At Katie’s questioning silence, the woman continued: “In the newspaper there was a picture of a society wedding, the Scotts and the Pembertons, I believe. It’s the oddest thing, but you look exactly like the bride.”

Katie gulped, but smiled incredulously. “Like Mr. Scott’s wife?”

Florence laughed. “Oh, but it couldn’t be, of course. Frances Pemberton is a society debutante. It’s just that the resemblance is remarkable. They say everyone has a twin.”

Katie continued to smile, but dropped her eyes. “I’m sure, mum,” she said, keeping her voice low and appropriately subservient. She hadn’t missed the cause for Florence Eldridge’s amusement, that a lowly woman like herself could ever be considered as anything other than a servant. It was an attitude she had become used to over the years, but now it grated on her.

Two small children scrambled down the steps, tumbling at their mother’s feet. Florence smiled fondly and straightened them, then indicated Katie.

“This is our new maid. She’s going to help Eleanor with the housework, and with you two as well.” As if in afterthought, she looked at Katie. “You said you didn’t mind children, didn’t you?”

“Of course not.” Katie smiled at the two little ones. They returned her smile, but Katie saw a secretive glance between them that instantly alarmed her.

“Jonathan?” Florence questioned softly. “You didn’t shake hands with Miss…O’Connor.”

The boy extended his hand, and Katie grasped it without thinking. Instantly something sharp pierced her palm and stung her. Gasping, she snatched back her hand and stared at the thistle embedded in her flesh as the children shrieked with laughter.

“Now, Jon, I told you to stop that.” Florence grinned at Katie apologetically. “I suppose boys will be boys.”

Katie forced a smile, plucking the stinging thistle from her hand. She wished that she was ten years old again; she’d take this little darling outside and prove that boys aren’t always boys. Instead she rubbed her palm and pretended that she enjoyed the joke.

“All right, it’s time you got to work. Here is Eleanor; she’ll show you what to do.”

“This way, miss.” Eleanor, the housekeeper, looked as sturdy as a bulkhead. She waved her hand and indicated the stairs. “We’ll start with the children’s rooms. They’re always the worst. Then we’ll continue downstairs. Madam likes the house very clean, you know.” She waited until they were out of earshot, then spoke furtively. “She drinks in the afternoon. Don’t mind what she says, then. She always forgets.”

Katie forced a smile, then lifted her skirts and followed the housekeeper up the stairs. She was home again, back in her rightful place.

She was beginning to wish she had never known anything else.

“Dammit, Auntie, do you have to sell the sofa?” Christopher watched in disbelief as two burly workmen carted the comfortable seven-foot couch out the backdoor and onto a waiting cart. There was a huge gap where the sofa had been, and Eunice carried a small table with flowers and plopped it into the space.

“Yes, we have to sell the sofa. Otherwise there won’t be any food tomorrow.” Eunice spoke with the same tone that a schoolteacher would use with an especially dull student. “The bill collectors were here again this morning. We are behind on the mortgage, the taxes, the bank loans…in short, just about everything. I managed to hold them at bay for the time being, but we do need to raise some more cash.”

“Christ.” Christopher sat down on an orange crate, one of the few seats available. “Would you mind turning up the lights, at least? It looks like a morgue in here.”

“Oh, that’s another thing.” Eunice sighed, then sat beside him on a matching crate. “I had the gas turned off.” At Christopher’s expression, she continued defensively: “We can make do with candles and wood fires. Your parents did for years.”

“Wonderful. Let’s go back to the seventeenth century.” Christopher snorted in disgust and glanced around the near-naked room. The chandelier dangled uselessly over his head, no longer sparkling with light. Patches of faded color stood out from the walls like a macabre checkerboard, witness to the places where portraits once gazed on the room. The velvet drapes had been stripped from the walls and the twilight poured in, making the place seem even more dismal. The only cheerful note was the fire, which threw off a little too much heat for the season.

“I’m sorry, but you have to face facts. No one expected our plan to backfire the way it did. I don’t suppose you had any luck in locating Fan—I mean Kate?”

“No.” Christopher started to sink back into his seat and nearly fell on the floor. “Damn.” He righted himself quickly, then stared bleakly around the ghostly room. “I looked everywhere. The streets. The row houses. I asked at taverns and shops. No one seems to know Kate O’Connor.”

“How odd,” Eunice said somberly. “She is our best hope after all. If you and Katie can walk through the Pembertons’ door as husband and wife, our troubles are temporarily over.”

“I know.” Christopher slapped his leg with his hand. “Where the hell could she be? How could she just vanish like that? I even spoke to the nuns at the convent. Kate O’Connor would have to be Catholic, wouldn’t you think?” At Eunice’s nod, he continued. “But even they wouldn’t tell me a thing. Sister Ellen Elizabeth just suggested I come back with a warrant if I really needed to know.”

Eunice nodded. “I know. I remember when I was young. Poor people don’t trust the rich. They are probably protecting the girl, thinking that you mean her some harm.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Have you tried her former employer? I believe Eileen said it was Marjorie Westcott?”

“Yes, it’s one of the first places I went. Mrs. Westcott had nothing but kind things to say about Kate, but even she remarked that Kate was strangely secretive, reluctant to provide information about herself. She wouldn’t even leave a forwarding address, but simply thanked Mrs. Westcott for the employment and disappeared.”

“That is strange,” Eunice agreed. “Even if Kate knew she was applying for the position as Ella’s companion, Kate had no guarantee that she would be given the job. You would think she would keep in touch with Marjorie, just in case things didn’t work out.”

“Dammit, it’s so frustrating! Somewhere in this city is the key to a new start, both for Kate and me. And neither of us can touch it without walking through Ella’s door together. It’s enough to make me mad.”

Eunice patted his hand sympathetically. The door knocker sounded, and she rose quickly to respond.

“Oh, Eunice,” Florence Eldridge said in surprise, her hand still raised to the door. “I wasn’t expecting you to answer.”

Eunice smiled. “I was just leaving. I’m sorry, I would ask you in, but I have an appointment.” She stared at Florence questioningly. “Had you called earlier?”

“No, I know this visit is sudden.” Florence waved her hand apologetically. Eunice could smell the aroma of brandy, smothered in perfume. Florence smiled unsteadily. “And I don’t mean to keep you. I was just on my way home and had to tell you something.” She leaned closer with a conspiratorial smile and Eunice tried not to breathe. “Do you remember that picture in the paper of your new daughter-in-law?”

“Frances?” Eunice stood very still. “Yes, I recall. It wasn’t a very good likeness.”

Florence nodded. “I know. I’ve just hired a girl for my house, and Eunice, you wouldn’t believe it. She is the spitting image of Fan Pemberton. Isn’t that incredible?”

Eunice gaped, then managed to close her mouth and act only mildly interested. “Yes, that is. Incredible, I mean.” Feigning a yawn, she continued, as if bored, “You don’t happen to remember her name, do you?”

“Oh, my. Let me see, I’m terrible with names, especially the help. Catherine? No, it’s something Irish. Kate O’Connor. That’s it. Kate O’Connor.”

Florence beamed, proud of her memory, and Eunice nodded. “I can’t say I know her. Good evening, Florence. I forgot something and must step inside the house, but I will call on you soon. Thank you for stopping by.”

The bewildered Florence Eldridge watched as the door closed in her face and she heard the sound of hurrying footsteps.

She had always heard that Eunice Scott was a little peculiar. Frowning, she returned to her carriage. She’d go home and have another drink. Then she would be able to figure it out.

She always could.

She just couldn’t take any more.

Katie pocketed her dollar and put on her shawl, aware of the oncoming nightfall. Her legs hurt from chasing the children up and down the stairs, slipping once when Jonathan put soap on one of the steps. Her bottom was bruised, both from the fall and from Charles Eldridge’s habit of pinching her whenever he went by.

Florence Eldridge, although not cruel, nevertheless saw her as having little more importance than the furniture, and she absently gave orders that only interfered with the running of the household and the children. Brandy was her weakness, and more than once Katie saw her gargle cologne in an effort to dispel the scent that was never far away. But in some ways, Katie couldn’t blame her. Married to a philandering husband and with two wretched children, she didn’t have much of a choice.

Stepping outside the house, Katie sagged tiredly against the backdoor, where the servants entered. It was so hard to assume this role again, to be treated as next to nothing. Sometimes when she closed her eyes, it seemed as if that other life had merely been a dream. Sean begged her to describe the house and its contents over and over again, and to tell him about the seashore, the waves, how vast was the ocean and how blue the sky. He never seemed to tire of hearing it, nor Katie of telling.