Masquerade (8 page)

“Lottie. Lottie …”

She opened her eyes and saw Dora standing over her.

“You fell asleep in the chair,” she said.

The events of the night rushed back to her:
cough, Mother, doctor.
She last remembered sitting in a chair outside her Mother’s bedroom, vowing to stay awake in case she was needed.

So much for that.

Lottie searched Dora’s face for answers even before she asked the question. “How is she?”

“Resting. She wants to see you.”

Within a few steps Lottie felt the consequences of her awkward night’s sleep. But what did a few stiff muscles matter compared to her mother’s ordeal?

The room was still barely lit, though Lottie could see a sliver of daylight through the draperies at the window. When had it turned to day?

Her mother was still propped up by a dozen pillows, her face pale, her eyes closed.

“Perhaps I should come back—”

Mother’s eyes opened. “I’m awake. Please stay.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“Much.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“I’ll live.”

Mother held out her hand, and Lottie fell upon it as if it were a holy relic deserving her worship. “I’m so glad, so glad. Thank you, thank you.”

Lottie felt foolish but would not retract her impulsive gratitude. God had heard her prayers and answered them well. It was a stunning victory, yet she felt oddly humbled rather than triumphant.

“Where is your father?” her mother asked.

“I …”

“He’s with her, isn’t he?”

Was he? Surely not. And yet … “I don’t know.”

Mother nodded slightly. “I do. Which is why you must listen to me very closely. You must go to America.”

There was something in her mother’s tone that spoke beyond her words. She’d said
you
, not
we
. In the span of one stressful night had everything changed? “You can’t go with me, can you?”

Her mother shook her head. “The doctor will not allow it.”

“But you need to get away too. The trip was for your sake as well as my own.”

Her mother paused, as if the weight of this lost chance weighed heavily upon her. “It’s not to be. I must remain here.”

Lottie cringed at the disgrace her mother would have to endure in the coming months.

To endure. Such was a woman’s lot.

With a determined breath that seemed to give her courage, Lottie’s mother continued, her voice stronger than before. “I still want you to marry Conrad Tremaine. I want you taken care of by a family of standing—as you would have been here if things had not …”

She hated to see her falter. “I don’t need to marry a rich man, Mother. Although I’ve certainly enjoyed the life of high society, it’s not as important to me as marrying for love.”

“You speak as a child who has no idea what a life outside our set is really like.”

“I weary of saying it, but you’re wrong. I’m no longer a child. Please give me some credit. I can adapt as well as anyone to whatever situation life affords me.” She
hoped
what she said was true.

Lottie’s mother extended a hand once more. “I am heartened by your attitude, but as it is … even though I cannot travel, you will not travel alone.”

Lottie suffered the horrible thought that Aunt Agatha would act as her mother’s surrogate. Lottie would rather travel with a woman off the streets than with her aunt. She shuddered at the thought of an entire voyage filled with her aunt’s lectures addressing Lottie’s shortcomings.

Considering this alternative, and though the thought of traveling alone was daunting, she had to offer a show of confidence. “I
can
go alone. I don’t need a chaperone. I know I could do it.” But did she want to do it? Going to America still involved marrying Conrad. Lottie needed time to think, to figure out her best strategy. It was all happening too fast.

“I’ve come up with an alternative.” Her mother coughed softly.

“Forgive me, but I don’t want Aunt Agatha—”

“I agree,” Mother said. “Frankly, the notion of my sister representing our family at the Tremaines’ …” She shook her head. “God love her.”

And keep her here.

Mother continued. “My alternative involves having Dora accompany you.”

Lottie’s legs turned to butter and she took hold of the bedside table for support. “Dora?”

“Is she not your friend as well as your maid?”

“She is,” Lottie said.

“Which is why I want Dora to use the other first-class ticket and travel as your friend, not your servant. That way you’ll have a companion during all segments of your voyage.”

A laugh escaped and Lottie clapped a hand over her mouth.

“You find this amusing?” her mother asked.

“No, no,” she said. “I find it perfect, beyond anything I could have planned myself. Will Father agree?”

“I will give him no choice.”

Lottie had never heard her mother sound so determined. Had the time for “enduring” passed?

Mother offered some advice. “Although it’s a blessing that Dora has already rid herself of the peculiar language mannerisms of her class, you
will
have to instruct her in numerous points of etiquette and loan her some of your clothes. Do you think they will fit?”

“We will make them fit.” Lottie couldn’t wait to see the look on Dora’s face when she heard the news and when she tried on one of Lottie’s gowns. On more than one occasion Lottie had offered to give Dora the experience, but Dora had shied away from it, saying it wouldn’t be right.

Until now.

Mother closed her eyes, then opened them for one more bit of instruction. “I need you to go to America and find a good life, Lottie. Find a good man. Be happy—for me.”

There was something slightly singular about this request. Absent was any mention of Conrad or the Tremaines. What was her mother really saying?

“Do you promise to be happy?”

“I do,” Lottie said, even though she had no idea what that would entail.

Her mother studied her, as if seeking the truth behind Lottie’s promise. Giving up her search, she said, “I need to sleep. Go on, now. Go share the news with Dora.”

Dora hated kitchen duty. Not only was it well beneath her position as lady’s maid, but the smell of raw food made her stomach threaten to do something nasty. It wasn’t that Mrs. Movery was a bad cook; it was the preparation involved that turned her stomach.

But this morning she’d been called into kitchen service because Cook had decided the way to cure Mrs. Gleason’s cough was to drown it with food. Under way were bread, stewed vegetables, baked apples, and two kinds of soup.

Cook looked up from stirring the steaming pots, her face perpetually flushed from the heat of the stove. “Chop those onions next, Dora, and don’t give me no lip about hating to do it. I’m having to do with two hands what used to be done with six.”

She looked to the bell on the wall that was marked
Charlotte
. Surely Lottie would ring for her as soon as she was free and remove her from this hell.

Until then, Dora peeled the skin from the first onion.

“Nice’n fine, now,” Mrs. Movery said.

With the very first slice, Dora’s eyes smarted and watered. And tears flowed.

As did her prayers for Mrs. Gleason. In many ways the woman was the only mother Dora knew—certainly the only mother figure she’d had since she was a girl. Dora hoped God would listen to her request— though He certainly had reason not to. Lately she’d grown lax in her prayers. She knew God hadn’t moved away; she’d done the moving. And it wasn’t that she hadn’t experienced moments of heartfelt prayer. When her sister was born sickly, she’d prayed for her health.

The baby died a week later.

Two other siblings died young… . Dora barely remembered them, as if they’d been visitors, come and gone away.

When her father died after a cart of ice fell on him, she’d prayed that she and her mother would make their way without him.

Dora had been forced to go into service at age thirteen—starting out at the Gleasons’ as a housemaid, spending endless hours polishing the silver and dusting. Her mother had gone to Canterbury when the family she’d been serving moved there. Dora hadn’t seen her mother since; letters had sufficed.

Which was why Dora thought of Mrs. Gleason in a maternal fashion. She cared for the woman and often found more to like in her than Lottie did.

Perhaps that’s the way it was with mothers and daughters—a delicate balance between love and hate that was as precarious as carrying an overfull cup of tea up an entire set of stairs. Dora hoped Mrs. Gleason’s current bout with illness would bring mother and daughter closer. Usually good came from bad—if you looked for it.

Suddenly the door leading upstairs burst open and Lottie rushed in. “Dora! There you are.”

Dora’s heart sped to her toes. “Is your mother—?”

“No, no. She’s better. Just come with me.” But instead of leading Dora back upstairs, Lottie pulled her out the kitchen door, around the side of the house, and back toward the gardens.

“Lottie! Let go! You’re going to make me fall.”

Lottie let go of her hand, which enabled both of them to fully lift their skirts to move faster. “Come on!”

The girls ran into the formal gardens behind the house, weaving their way through the maze of pruned hedges, which were looking a bit ragged from lack of care. Lottie was first through a rose-covered arbor leading to a circle of benches.

“Sit!” she commanded.

“Gladly.” Dora fell upon a bench. “Why the rush? What happened? Is your mother fully recovered? You seem so happy.”

“I am happy beyond measure. And what’s happened? The world has changed in our favor.”

“What are you talking about?”

Lottie finally planted herself in front of Dora’s bench. “Mother can’t go to America with me.”

“I’m not surprised. Does that mean you’re staying?” That would be ideal.

“Not at all. I’m going without her.”

“You’re going alone? Your parents, who will not even let you take a walk in the village alone, will let you cross an ocean?”

She shook her head. “I will have a companion.”

Dora’s heart flipped and she began an inner argument, a defense against the new hope that had been suddenly born… . “And who would that be?”

“You!” Lottie pulled Dora to standing and spun her around in a circle. “We’re going to America!”

“On a ship?”

Lottie stopped their circle and laughed. “Yes, on a ship. How else would we get there? Fly?”

Silly her.

But Lottie wasn’t through. “Yet that’s only half the news. Are you ready?”

More than ready.
“Quit being so dramatic. Just tell me.”

“You are not traveling as my maid but … as my companion. You will use the other first-class ticket and we will share accommodations like bosom friends!”

Dora sought the solidity of the bench. It was incomprehensible. “Your parents suggested this?”

“It was Mother’s doing. She knows how close we are. And this way we can both go to the Tremaines’, and you can help me with any wedding preparations in her stead.”

“So now you want to marry Conrad?”

Lottie plucked a rose from the arbor and put it to her nose. “Of course not. But one thing at a time. I see how much it means to my parents to have me go. They have enough to worry about with Mother’s health and all the other issues here. I don’t want to burden them with more worries. Unnecessary worries.”

Lottie thinking of her parents’ feelings? This was a surprise.

Lottie tossed the rose into the garden. Then she ran through the arbor, where she stopped and taunted Dora. “Follow me! We have work to do.”

Dora rose to follow. “Packing?”

“Lessons. Our first priority is teaching you how to be a proper lady.”

The packing would be the easier task.

Lottie threw open the doors to her wardrobe and combed through the dresses. She pulled out a satin gown of yellow and brown. “Here,” she said. “Try this on.”

Out of habit, Dora shook her head. This was not the first time Lottie had offered Dora a chance to try on her clothes. Dora had always been tempted. The dresses were so luscious and pretty. But she’d never given in to the temptation, for if Mrs. Gleason or even Miss Agatha had come in, Dora would have been sacked for certain.