Unveiled. Part 1

Unveiled.

COLLEEN QUINN.

For Cathy.

Special thanks to Gail Fortune, for her enthusiasm, and to the wonderful people of Cape May at the Linda Lee house, the Queen Victoria, and the Mainstay Inn, who shared their homes with me and invited me back another time.

ONE.

"Are you absolutely certain? In essence then, I am bankrupt?" Christopher Scott asked as his legal adviser peered up from behind silver-rimmed spectacles. The older man laid down his pencil and closed his ledger with a sigh.

"I'm afraid so, my son. The panic has. .h.i.t many families hard, as you know. Unfortunately your family's investments have suffered greatly, especially the railroads. Then there are the bills from the estate, taxes, salaries, and upkeep. You are in the red, and with prices deflated, I don't see that situation improving any time soon."

"I see." Christopher digested this information. Ruffling his fingers through the thick black hair that fell charmingly into his face, he gave a grin that the gamblers at the nearby h.e.l.l halls would have instantly recognized. "So what do you suggest?"

"I would propose you begin searching for employment." The austere, thin-lipped attorney rose to his feet and placed the ledger in his valise. Christopher and his aunt exchanged a glance, then the young man broke into laughter, rose from his seat, and pounded the accountant on his back.

"Good, that's very good. Come now, James, it can't be as bad as all that? What about my South African mines? The silver? The textile mills?"

"I'm sorry." The man paused on the way out, then glanced enviously at the rich room with its green velvet drapes, the Brussels rug, the dark cherry furnis.h.i.+ngs, and the crystal chandelier. Portraits of elite Philadelphians gazed from the wall, and objets d'art graced the tables. "Perhaps you might consider selling off your a.s.sets. That may hold you for a time, but you really need a more permanent solution. I wish I had something better to offer you, but I don't. The facts speak for themselves."

He closed his case with a snide snicker, then followed the butler to the door. Returning a moment later, the butler filled a brandy gla.s.s and, without expression, placed it on the table before disappearing.

"I would suggest you drink it," his aunt said sharply. "You will undoubtedly be needing it to get through the next hour."

Sending his aunt a look betraying his lack of appreciation, Christopher gulped the brandy, waiting for the numbing warmth to overcome him. A handsome man, barely thirty years old, he had the self-a.s.sured, careless look of one who had never had to face reality. It wasn't that he was unintelligent or incapable. It was just that he'd lived a charmed life, and didn't regret it for a moment.

Tonight, the drink didn't help. Christopher doubted that there was enough brandy in the world to help him cope with what he had learned.

"How the h.e.l.l could this happen?" he demanded, rising to his feet and pacing the floor. "How could it all be gone? Hundreds of thousands of dollars, dollars that my father made selling that d.a.m.ned soap, how could it have evaporated like one of his bubbles?"

"It happened the way it always happens," Aunt Eunice said dryly, refilling the gla.s.s and drinking it herself. "The older entrepreneur dies, leaving a fortune to his dissolute son, who gambles and runs the estate into the ground. It is an old plot; one need look no farther than the nearest penny dreadful to review it."

"Very funny," Christopher said sarcastically. "I didn't do all this. No one, no matter how dissolute, as you put it, could have run through that kind of money in five years. It would take a lifetime of gambling, drinking, and wenching to lose my father's fortune. Christ, I can't believe it."

"You must believe it." Eunice said sternly. "It's time you grew up and faced facts. My brother was very successful, it is true. Soaps and perfumes. He understood what women were looking for in cleaning products, and supplied them. Made quite a fortune once the little rose-shaped soaps caught on. For a few pennies, even a serving woman could afford them."

Christopher nodded. "Who would have known that the economy would turn sour? All of the profits of the business were channeled into investments. Father realized that the soap business was too fickle for long-term security, so he bought solid stocks and bonds, thinking to provide for us for years to come." He smiled sardonically at the irony of that. "He might as well have spent it wenching, for all the good it did."

"Do not speak ill of the dead," Eunice said sharply, her webbed face taking on an even leaner cast. "You should be making plans. Your decisions will affect more than just yourself, as you know."

Christopher stared thoughtfully at his aunt. Though she would die rather than admit it, he was all she had left. And she was a responsibility he couldn't neglect. Aunt Eunice, for all her forthright speech, had a heart of gold. It was she who had interfered when his father was too harsh or impatient with his devil-may-care att.i.tude. She'd made sure that he had the best schooling, and that he'd applied himself when he would have settled for average grades. Long before his mother died, Aunt Eunice had treated him with all of the stern affection she would have given her own child, if she'd had one.

And now she needed him. He knew that she was frightened. She had been poor once, just like his father, desperately poor. He couldn't imagine what her existence must have been like, for she simply shuddered when anyone talked about it, and changed the subject. No, if it was only himself, he could survive. But Aunt Eunice deserved better than an almshouse.

"You're right," Christopher said slowly, not revealing his thoughts. "We do have others to think about. We have a large staff to consider, the butler, the scullery maid, the cook, and the chambermaid. Then there's the stable boy, the gardener, and the grounds keeper. I can't just throw everyone out into the street."

"No, I suppose not." Eunice glanced at the young man and there was almost a sympathetic look on her face. "Then you are thinking of selling the estate?"

"I can't," Christopher said with a sigh. "The house is badly in need of repair. We wouldn't get a dime on the dollar of what it's really worth. Besides, I just can't do that to my father. If he were alive, it would kill him all over again."

Eunice nodded. John Scott had loved this house, with its clean Colonial lines and its red-brick facing and marble steps. It was the realization of a dream, the immigrant gazing from the roads of Philadelphia at the wealthy Walnut Street mansions. He had been determined to belong to that society, and had struggled from his ign.o.ble beginning as a dockworker to accomplish that feat.

"What do you think?"

Eunice peered at her nephew and saw that he wasn't joking, he was genuinely soliciting her opinion. She stared at him thoughtfully, weighing the options, her shrewd mind working frantically. Finally she drew a deep breath. "I think there's only one way out. Marriage."

"What!" Christopher laughed. When Eunice's face did not change, his laughter slowly died, only to be replaced by genuine puzzlement. "Surely you are joking."

"Not at all," Eunice said briskly. "You are of age, and expected to marry. Why, the mothers of every eligible chit in the city see you as a catch. A man of your cla.s.s is expected to marry a woman of equal upbringing, a woman who happens to be...well-off."

"But marriage!"

"I don't think you have much other choice. You are well educated, but like most academics, you are unfit to do anything. You have no knowledge of accounting, you deplore banking, you know nothing of the law or medicine. The entrepreneurial spirit has certainly skipped a generation, and I fail to see you as a sweatshop worker. In short, if you wish to maintain your present life at the least inconvenience to yourself, I would suggest you consider it."

Christopher paled. "What about a bank loan? Surely we could borrow against what the house is worth. That should hold us for some time."

"You could remortgage," Aunt Eunice agreed. "But the debt will have to be paid back and, in the long term, will not provide an answer. No, I think you have your possibilities. Sell the estate, or marry an heiress." At Christopher's glum face, the elderly woman smiled. "It won't be so awful. After all, you aren't a bad-looking man. Those light skirts have been chasing you for years. Perhaps, with the right coaxing, you might be able to convince a girl that you are not loathsome."

"But that is so...unromantic," Christopher said bluntly.

Aunt Eunice chuckled. "So is starving, my boy. Face it, you are not cut out to be poor. You like nice clothes, good food, the best drink, and your games. Being poor isn't fun, Christopher. Poor people live on street corners, huddle over barrels of coal in the winter to stay warm, eat sc.r.a.ps, and die young. I was poor once. There is nothing n.o.ble about it." Aunt Eunice saw his expression and smiled grimly. "Marry for money, nephew. It is your only answer."

Christopher shot her a look, then took back the brandy gla.s.s. There were times when drink was the only answer. This appeared to be one of them.

"Ah. It's you. The madam is expecting you." A woman with a thick brogue and a face so well scrubbed that it seemed permanently red, opened the door and scowled.

Katie entered the hallway of the magnificent Victorian cottage, her cold fingers numbly clutching a worn carpetbag. Barely twenty-five, she looked much younger than that, with her dark black hair, her nose sprinkled with freckles, and her small pink mouth. Her blue eyes usually danced with pure mischief, but today they were cast shyly downward. Unfas.h.i.+onably dressed in a bleak gray muslin that still bore hoops, she looked exactly like what she was: a young Irish girl who had saved her last few pennies to make the long trip from Philadelphia to the quaint little seaside village of Cape May.

"I suppose you're here about the advertis.e.m.e.nt," the woman grumbled.

"Yes." Katie unfolded a yellowed newspaper clipping that she'd carefully cut from the Public Ledger and handed it to the dour-faced woman along with her papers. She'd read the clipping so many times she knew it by heart, and she was certain she fit the qualifications as a lady's companion.

She had to have this job, she thought desperately as the woman examined the papers. There were others depending on her, particularly a little boy with soft blond hair and a smile that squeezed her heart. G.o.d, how she loved him. She was almost afraid to admit that love, for it was the same fickle emotion that had brought her shame. John Sweeney, with his Irish grin and his carefree ways, had won her heart. He'd said that he loved her, that he would never leave...but he did. And Philadelphia, for all its grand hotels and streets, was too small for an unwed woman and her child. She held her head high, refusing to allow that thought to continue. She had to survive.

"Humph." The woman frowned, handing back the papers. She examined Katie critically, her eyes almost disappearing into her round face. Katie held her breath until the woman nodded, then continued abruptly, "I suppose you'll do. Your papers are in order. Mind you'll not be making off with the silver. And watch your p's and q's. The old dragon's a stickler for the queen's English."

Katie thrust the papers inside her bag. "Where is Mrs. Pemberton?"

"She's taking her nap." The woman tried to remain gruff, but there was something about Katie that made it extremely difficult to maintain her demeanor. "I don't suppose you've eaten?"

"Not since yesterday." Katie sighed.

The woman rolled her eyes in resignation. "Well, come in until it's time for your interview. To the kitchen with you, and don't be scuffing my floor. My name's Eileen."

Katie nodded and did as she was told, little daunted by the woman's brusque manner. Where she came from, in the Irish ward of Philadelphia, everyone talked like Eileen and had the same lack of affection toward youth. It came from living in the city, where so many young people died long before they reached adulthood. It was as if one didn't prove oneself fit until one overcame that stigma.

Hus.h.i.+ng the sound of her boots on the polished marble floor, Katie gazed in wonder at the ornate rose wallpaper, twirling with leaves and thorns from one wall up to the border and even across the ceiling. Burgundy and gold, it looked grand to the young woman's eyes, as did the hurricane lamps dripping with crystal, the heavy carved furniture, the gold-leaf looking gla.s.s that consumed one side of the wall.

The kitchen was at the far end of the house. Katie pa.s.sed sitting rooms cleverly arranged with intricate chairs and heavily swathed in velvet drapes. Stained-gla.s.s windows appeared as if by afterthought, their odd panes gleaming bloodred and sapphire in the morning sunlight.

"Here it is. Sit now at the table and I'll light the stove. Lord would think you would eat first, the long trip and all."

Eileen pinched her arm, indicating the table, and Katie abruptly took a seat, rubbing the abused member. As Eileen bustled about she stared at the sideboard in amazement. Never had she seen so much food. A basket of potatoes waited beside the sink, and a bowl of fruit graced the table. A ham stood near the stove, enticingly pink and juicy. She saw a pitcher of fresh milk in the icebox and a loaf of baked bread on the sideboard. Eileen cut her a thick slice, then lathered it with blueberry jam and thrust it disdainfully at her.

"Eat that until the luncheon is made. I'm going to share my own meal with you. Can't see you go hungry, and the old dragon would begrudge you even that."

Katie smiled in grat.i.tude, then devoured the bread. Nothing had ever tasted so good. She drank greedily of the frothing milk Eileen had placed before her, and was finis.h.i.+ng a second chunk of bread before she could speak.

"What is she like?"

Eileen scowled as she placed a good supper of ham and potatoes on the table, then joined the young girl. "Madam? She's about what you would expect. Daft, she is. Forgets one day to the next. But don't let that fool you into thinking you can put one over on her. Sometimes the old lady is as sharp as knives. Cheap as they come, too. Would take the pennies off the eyes of a corpse."

Katie shuddered, then ate a second slice of ham. "Why does she need a companion?"

Eileen chuckled, then recited the clipping. "*Elderly lady seeks seaside companion. Must be youthful, trustworthy, etc. Room and board, plus wages. See Ella Pemberton.' Note how they're vague on the last."

"They?"

"The Pembertons," Eileen said with a conspiratorial wink. "The Main Liners can't stand the old lady. So they send her down here, to the sh.o.r.e house, hire a companion, and they're done with the whole situation. Convenient, isn't it?"

"Very," Katie agreed. She was about to help herself to another potato when the clanging of a bell startled her and she nearly dropped her spoon. Eileen sighed, then pushed heavily away from the table and gave Katie an inspecting glance.

"Pull your hair away from your eyes. Too bad we don't have time to take a comb to it, the color's lovely. And brush the tips of your boots. Madam can't stand dust. There now." Reaching out, she pinched Katie's cheeks, satisfied when she saw the tears start in her eyes and fresh color bloomed just below them. "You'll do. Up with you now. And remember, don't cry. She can't stand sniveling."

Katie nodded, wincing as her cheeks still stung. She felt Eileen's hand touch her shoulder rea.s.suringly, then the woman shoved her toward the ma.s.sive staircase. Katie fought the instinct to run. Clutching her carpetbag, she entered the first bedroom that Eileen indicated.

The room was so dark that it took her a moment to realize it was all decorated in rose, from the palest pink to the darkest cherry. The windows, painstakingly shuttered, were clothed in burgundy velvet, refusing to permit even the slimmest shaft of light to enter. Gas lamps hung from the wall, but no flicker of illumination glinted from their opaque gla.s.s shades. Even the lace bedspread looked yellowed and old, as if it had shriveled up like a pansy from lack of suns.h.i.+ne.

"Another, I suppose?" Ella Pemberton's voice rasped. She had the same impervious tone as one of the nuns who ran the city's parochial school. "I heard the door. Let's have a look at you, miss."

Katie dropped her bag and stepped forward, grimacing at the thought of the inspection. Up close, Ella Pemberton was even more daunting. Her face, once beautiful, had sharpened with age, chiseling her features until one couldn't help but notice the penetrating eyes, the unforgiving nose, the mirthless mouth. Common sense, lack of humor, and overbearing intelligence were all written there. The old woman's pale eyes peered at the young girl and she gestured to the housekeeper.

"Not much bigger than the last one, is she? I take it her papers are in order?"

"Yes, miss," Eileen said evenly. "She has a good letter of reference from Marjorie Westcott."

"I see." The old lady peered quizzically at Katie, then waved a finger impatiently. "Don't just stand there, turn around! Eileen, light the lamp. I want to get a good look at her."

Eileen complied, then indicated to Katie that she should move closer. Katie stepped into the lamplight and looked directly at Ella Pemberton. She felt like a little girl at school, being inspected by the nuns, then taken to task for the dust on her boots. She winced, waiting for the old woman to find fault, but a profound change seemed to come across Ella.

"My G.o.d," the old woman whispered in shock. "Can it be? It is. My dear, dear girl."

Katie stared at the woman in confusion. Ella's profile had lost its harshness and her eyes seemed to soften like wax. Color had drained from her cheeks and there was a look of disbelief mingled with joy on her face as a tear dropped down her lined skin.

"Mrs. Pemberton?" Katie asked softly. She was afraid for a moment that the woman would faint, but Ella chuckled and wiped at the tear.

"Fan. My dear, dear Fan. Please forgive me for not recognizing you immediately. It's just been so long."

Katie glanced at Eileen, who stood in the doorway with her mouth sagging. Ella's voice was full of emotion and had lost its bitterness. She sounded like a young girl and a wistful smile came to her face as she gazed fondly at Katie.

"That's not your niece," Eileen said quickly. "This is a girl answering the advertis.e.m.e.nt. You know Fan is-"

"Don't you dare," Ella said sternly. She whirled on the housekeeper and poked a jagged finger in the air. "You know I never believed that. It was a tale, that's what it was. They like to see me suffer. No, I have my Fan back and all will be well."

"But-"

"Please put her in her old room, Eileen. There will be no more discussion. My sweet Fan."

Eileen opened her mouth, then closed it abruptly. "This way, Your Ladys.h.i.+p," she muttered, leading Katie out of the room. When they got outside, she turned toward Katie in disapproval. "It looks like you'll be here for a while. She's really addled her brain now. Fan, she called you. Thinks you're her niece."

Katie's eyes widened. "Her niece?"

Eileen nodded, then pushed open a door at the far end of the hall. In spite of her bewilderment, Katie couldn't stop the look of wonder on her face when Eileen led her into a lovely bedroom decorated with chintz and ribbons. Not even the housekeeper's scowls could dim her pleasure as she observed the mirrors and a washstand, a rug so thick her feet sank into it, and a bed filled with down feathers.

"This is for me?" Her voice squeaked and Eileen nodded, her lips tight.

"This is Fan's room. That's where she wants you." Eileen indicated the lovely surroundings. "Enjoy it while you can. Eventually I'm sure she'll realize her mistake."

"What happened to her? Fan, I mean?" Katie asked.

Eileen hesitated, then shrugged. "Frances ran off with a disreputable gambler and was never spoken of again. Word reached the family that she got killed in San Francisco, but the old lady refused to believe that. Fan was her favorite. She cared more for her than the rest of them put together."

"And she's never been heard from since?"

Eileen nodded. "Until you walked in, Mrs. Pemberton seemed to have forgotten her." Scowling again, Eileen indicated the washstand. "Tea is at four. I'm sure the old woman would want her dear niece there."

Eileen stalked out, leaving Katie alone in the room. After kicking off her boots, the young girl flounced onto the quilt and nearly hugged herself in glee.

She'd fallen over the rainbow. And right into the pot of gold.

TWO.