A Lady of Hidden Intent (29 page)

“Soon I’ll be as famous as that English tart.”

Knocking on Catherine’s door, Felicia knew there would be no answer. She quickly slipped into the room and closed the door. The room felt icy without a fire in the hearth. She couldn’t suppress a shiver and took up Catherine’s shawl from across the back of a nearby chair.

She glanced around the room and frowned. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something wasn’t right. Now with the sunlight fading and twilight overtaking the evening, she began to wonder if Catherine and the Shays had gone somewhere for the holidays.

She went to the wardrobe and pulled it open. Clothes were obviously missing, but many things remained. Perhaps the missing pieces were simply being laundered by Selma. Still Felicia frowned, wondering if Catherine and the Shays had fled.

“Surely she wouldn’t give up that easily,” Felicia muttered, trying to look under the bed to see if Catherine’s luggage was gone. There was one large case near the foot of the bed. She straightened, her frown deepening. Had she other bags? Smaller ones, perhaps?

“What are you doing in here?”

Felicia started. She hadn’t heard the door open. “I . . . ah . . .”

She remembered the shawl. “I . . . ah . . . came to borrow this shawl. Catherine said I might.”

“I want to see you downstairs in my quarters,” Mrs. Clarkson said, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Immediately.”

Felicia nodded and followed the woman out of Catherine’s room and down the stairs. She dreaded the encounter, because she’d broken a very firm rule about being in someone else’s room. Mrs. Clarkson had always been stern about such matters, and Felicia knew that in order to save herself, she would probably have to turn the focus back on Catherine.

“Have a seat,” Mrs. Clarkson said as they entered the sitting room. Felicia sat rather stiff-backed on the closest wooden chair. She bowed her head but gazed upward to watch her employer.

“I’m very disappointed in your behavior, Felicia. It isn’t the first time that you’ve been snooping about, is it?”

“I told you I went there for a shawl. I couldn’t find mine. I think maybe Lydia accidentally took it with her.”

Mrs. Clarkson crossed her arms. “Felicia, we both know that isn’t the truth. I cannot abide a liar.”

Felicia tried to think of what she should do next. She raised her head and straightened. “I want to tell you the truth, but I’m afraid it will get someone in trouble.”

“Someone?”

Felicia nodded, trying her best to look innocent in the entire situation. “Catherine.”

“And why would Catherine be in trouble? You were the one snooping around her room.”

“Well, Lydia brought something to my attention. She told me that Catherine was lying about her identity.” Felicia watched the older woman for her reaction but was disappointed when the woman acted as though the news meant nothing. “I didn’t want to see the sewing house business endangered because of her questionable activities.”

“And what activities would those be?”

“Well, to begin with, Catherine isn’t Mr. and Mrs. Shay’s daughter. Her real name is Newbury, and there are those who believe she might be a criminal.”

“I see. And you felt this gave you the right to invade the privacy of others? Even knowing my rules about such matters?”

“I felt the situation merited further investigation. Had I said anything to anyone, the Shays and Catherine might have found a way to hide the truth.”

“And what is this truth to you?”

Felicia shifted her weight nervously. “As I said, I didn’t want to see any harm come to the sewing house.”

“And so you felt it necessary to take matters into your own hands, even if that meant breaking the rules. If Catherine were a criminal, how would you be any different?”

“Looking for information to prove the truth isn’t a criminal activity,” Felicia argued.

“Perhaps not, but blackmail is.” Mrs. Clarkson watched her carefully.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, my dear, since you refuse to be honest with me, I suppose I shall have no choice but to let you go.”

Felicia was uncertain as to exactly what the woman was saying. “Let me go?”

“Yes. You’ll have to gather your things and leave. I suppose the morning will be soon enough.”

“No!” Felicia declared, jumping to her feet. “You can’t do this to me. I . . . I . . . have nowhere to go.”

“Felicia, I cannot have you here breaking the rules and threatening the employees. I already knew about Catherine’s past. The poor girl was ripped from her home and deprived of the comforts she’d always known. Now you want to further her miseries. It’s a most uncharitable and unchristian thing to do. Not to mention illegal. The very thought of anyone using such despicable actions completely offends me.”

“But I can’t lose my job.” Felicia was beginning to see that she was backed into a corner. If Mrs. Clarkson fired her, she would have no letter of reference, and without that, Felicia could hardly expect to get another job. At least not without having to start all over at the bottom.

She dropped back onto the chair, unable to think of what she could do or say that would make matters right. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone. I thought this was the right way to handle the matter.”

Mrs. Clarkson shook her head. “It was the selfish way. If you had a concern, you could have come to me and we would have discussed it. Now, because you threatened to take the money Catherine needed to get her father help, she’s felt it necessary to go.”

“Go?” Felicia asked.

“Yes. She’s gone, and without her designs we’ll go back to being just one more sewing house in Philadelphia. We will, perhaps, even need to close our doors from loss of income.”

Felicia had never thought that the situation could get this far out of control. She had figured Catherine would want to keep the truth quiet and would cooperate with Felicia’s demands.

“Where did she go? Can’t you ask her to come back? I promise to leave her be,” Felicia suddenly declared.

“I don’t know where she’s gone. Catherine, at this time, is completely beyond my care. What we have to determine is what to do about you.”

Felicia knew her only hope was to apologize and plead her case. “Please don’t send me away. I have no one. My family, as you well know, are all dead. I need this job—it’s all I have.”

“Then why didn’t you consider this before making such poor choices?” Mrs. Clarkson was still quite stern.

“I suppose I acted out of fear more than anything,” Felicia replied. “You always seem to talk of Catherine’s accomplishments, and I suppose I felt jealous. I would like to have the opportunity to make designs as well.”

“And I told you before that if you have something to show me, I am more than happy to see it. The most important thing we do is provide diversity for our customers.”

Felicia sat in silence, fearing that if she said anything she would further damage her chances to stay on at Mrs. Clarkson’s.

“If I thought you really cared or were really sorry for the things you did, I might be more open to reconsider. If you weren’t given to deception and to imposing your will on others, it might be easier to give you a second chance.”

It was becoming increasingly clear that Mrs. Clarkson wasn’t about to yield. Felicia felt a deep sense of fear wash over her.

Where would she go? She decided to appeal to Mrs. Clarkson’s Christian nature.

“But what of forgiveness? The Bible says that we should forgive. I’m asking you to forgive me, Mrs. Clarkson.” She tried her best to look contrite.

The older woman shook her head. “And what of repentance?

What of being truly sorry for your actions, and not merely because you were caught?”

Felicia fought to control her anger. The woman was completely infuriating. “How can you sit there in judgment of me?”

“Your actions sit in judgment of you.” Mrs. Clarkson got to her feet. She produced a small purse much like the one the girls had received earlier that morning. “This is money I have set aside for you. When each girl lives here I take a small amount and put it aside for her in hope that one day she might be able to go out on her own and set up a business for herself. This is your portion.” She handed the bag to Felicia. “You may stay until after Christmas Day, but then you must be gone. I cannot have this house further upset.”

Felicia looked at the bag and then at Mrs. Clarkson. “I cannot believe you would just send me out like this. I’ve always been a good worker. I’ve always done my share.”

“Yes, but you’ve also caused your share of trouble. Felicia, I took you in and cared for you as if you were my own daughter.

I understood your hostilities as someone newly orphaned, but that anger has never left you. You would do yourself good to try to find a way to overcome your greed and anger.”

Felicia got to her feet. “You’ll be sorry for this.”

“Are you threatening me?” Mrs. Clarkson asked. “I can still have the police brought into this matter.”

“I’m not threatening you, I’m merely stating the truth,” Felicia said, her jaw clenching tight. She clutched the bag and headed to the door. “You’ve lost Catherine and her sewing talents, and now you’re sending me away. I’m the Second Hand. You have no other more experienced seamstress in this house, save yourself. That’s what I mean when I say you’ll be sorry.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Mrs. Clarkson said, sadly shaking her head. “At least I will know I can trust my workers.”

Felicia pulled the door closed behind her. A part of her wanted to set fire to the house and burn it to the ground, while another part was resigned to accept her fate. She couldn’t change the older woman’s mind, and with her luck, Felicia would only end up in jail if she took any kind of action.

Taking sanctuary in her room, Felicia tossed the bag of money to her bed. She had no idea how much Mrs. Clarkson had given her, but it would have to be enough.

“No one’s ever cared about whether I survive,” she said bitterly. “No one but me.”
And that’s the way things are likely to stay,
she told herself.

CHAPTER 22

W
ell, bless my bows,” Mrs. Samuelson said as she ushered the Shays and Catherine into the front room. “I didn’t figure to ever see you again, and now here you are standing before me as big as day. And on the day before the Lord’s birth.”

“Do you have rooms?” Selma asked. “We find ourselves in need of a place to stay.”

“I do, I do. I have two and will soon have another,” the woman responded. “Just lost a renter last week, and another gentleman is leaving just after New Year’s. Said my forgetfulness was starting to affect the quality of the meals around here.” She cackled a laugh. “I told him I couldn’t help getting old.”

“Well, it seems to be to our benefit,” Selma said, looking to Catherine. “It might be only a short stay, however.”

“Ah, well then, we’ll just enjoy our time together while we can.” She eyed Selma with a grin. “Would you want to be trading cookin’ and cleanin’ for rent?”

“I’d like that very much,” Selma said. “Dugan can also work around the house to fix things up.”

“Oh my, but that would be a blessin’. I have a flue upstairs that’s stuck. Causes the fires to smoke up the room something fierce. Since Mr. Samuelson died, I can’t seem to get good help. I will let the two of you live here and eat for free if you’ll do all of that.” She looked to Catherine as if to ask what she might contribute.

“I’ll be happy to take in sewing and laundry to pay my portion,” Catherine admitted. “I know your boarders are generally men who’d rather not do such things for themselves. I’ll give you the cash I can earn.”

“Seems settled, then,” Mrs. Samuelson said. “I’ll show you upstairs. You’ll have different rooms than before.” She took up a ring of keys from her apron pocket and led the way.

Catherine smiled at the familiarity of the place. She hadn’t been here in years, but the same steps still creaked, the banister was still loose, and the place still smelled of lemon verbena and day-old fish.

“Miss Catherine would likely be happy in this room,” Mrs. Samuelson said, opening the door. “There’s good morning light here for your sewing.”

Catherine noted the narrow room and tiny bed. There was a small table and chair beside the fireplace near the foot of the bed, and a trunk in which one could store clothing rested under the table.

“It looks just fine,” Catherine said.

Mrs. Samuelson gave her a key and nodded. “The Shays will be next door, and lunch will be served in an hour.”

Catherine closed the door and set her bag on the table. The train ride had been arduous and nearly unbearable. The heat stove hadn’t been working correctly, so the car was colder than usual. Catherine’s feet remained frozen. They’d had to spend the night while en route to New York City due to the snow. She was still surprised they were able to come the rest of the way this morning. Huge drifts had lined the tracks, although the depths had lessened the closer they came to New York City.

She sat down on the side of the bed, not surprised to find the telltale sagging of a rope bed. Already she missed the comfort of Mrs. Clarkson’s home. Funny, she used to pine over her home in England, but that seemed like centuries in the past.