Eternal Deception

by Jane Steen

  The penny dropped. She meant the hiding place in the library shelves.

  “It was you—“ I began, but Mrs. Drummond made a chopping motion with her hand to cut off my words. Yet I was certain I was right—it was she who had taken the letter Professor Wale had shown me. And now she wanted me to have it back.

  “But why not give it to me now?” I asked.

  Mrs. Drummond shook her head. “It keeps me safe.” She raised a finger to her lips, tapping my arm several times with the other hand. “My room has been searched.”

  Before I could speak, she spun on her heel and reached the door with astonishing speed. The air around me shifted as the door closed, the flame of the lamp flickering for the merest fraction of a second.

  I extinguished the lamp as quickly as I could and almost ran out of the door, following the receding footsteps as they headed toward the stairs. Suddenly, I was not at all keen on wandering about the seminary at night either.

  But as I reached the second floor, my footsteps faltered. A light came from the study rooms that lined the long wall of the library, a golden glow pooled on the polished wood of the corridor like liquid fire. Moving as quietly as I could, I approached the open doorway.

  Martin sat surrounded by closely written papers, running one hand over his tired eyes as he leafed through several pages containing columns of figures. His jacket hung on the back of his chair. The sleeves of his shirt were folded back, a pair of onyx cufflinks abandoned on the desk in front of him. His hair was disheveled, as if he had been pushing his hand through it, something he often did when he was thinking.

  It was a familiar scene. I had frequently seen him work of an evening, those weeks I had spent at his home in Victory after my escape from the Poor Farm. I leaned against the doorjamb, comforted by the thought that here, at least, was someone I could trust.

  He looked up and saw me standing there, and his lips curved into a smile. “Have you been working late too, Nellie?”

  “Not exactly,” I answered. I hesitated, wishing I could tell him about Mrs. Drummond. But she had sworn me to the strictest secrecy about her departure, and I didn’t think I could begin to unravel the tale of the poor woman’s fears and accusations without inadvertently stumbling onto that part of the conversation.

  “I’m going to bed,” I said instead, pushing myself away from the jamb. “Good night, Martin.”

  “Good night, my dear.”

  An old friend could have said it thus; but my heart lightened, and the darkness seemed less threatening as I climbed the last few flights to the safety of my own room.

  37

  Daniel

  And then Martin was gone to Wichita, and the last days of the Rutherfords’ visit were sliding toward us with the inevitability of a rising river. Lucetta remained behind, and we all heard the muted sound of her voice ringing out from behind the Calderwoods’ closed doors as she rehearsed.

  As the day of the grand dinner and concert approached, a kind of febrile excitement settled over the seminary. It infected even the students, who, with the exception of the very wealthiest, whose parents were coming, were not invited. Deliveries arrived of a young pig, a brace of turkeys, a half dozen prairie chickens, and a pail containing a dozen live trout. That was the count reported to me by Sarah before an increasingly irritable Netta banished her from the kitchen.

  “And liquor too, I suppose?” I said to Judah, who found me in the library after he had spent hours closeted with Mrs. Calderwood, going over endless lists and table seating plans.

  “French wines.” Judah looked pleased with himself. “I procured a dozen cases from a merchant in New York, and Dr. Calderwood has tasted them and found they’ve traveled well.”

  And when I first came to the seminary, they didn’t permit a drop of alcohol—but I said nothing.

  “You’ll sit with me, quite in the thick of things.” Judah brushed his fingers surreptitiously over the back of my hand. We were not alone in the large room, although we were well away from the others.

  The touch did not produce the same sensation in me as it would have done a few weeks before, and I felt a now-familiar pang of anxiety. Had I committed myself so far with Judah that refusing his proposal would cause awkwardness, at the very least, and perhaps even accusations of trifling with his affections? I pretended to cough, removing my hand from his reach, and sought for a way to divert his attention. But another thought struck him.

  “You must be well dressed, of course,” he said, his gaze roaming over my practical shirtwaist and skirt, “but not so well as to outshine the other ladies. You already have the advantage over many of them in terms of youth and beauty.”

  “I won’t be able to outshine Mrs. Rutherford, whatever I do,” I noted, ignoring his compliments.

  “That is to be expected. But the other ladies will make an effort, do you see? And you must—“

  “Not make too much of an effort?”

  “Make it look as if you have made a great deal of effort but with a limited palette. Keep it—well, simple I suppose.” Judah threw out his hands in a gesture of male helplessness in the face of all feminine matters. “Don’t draw undue attention to yourself.”

  I nodded. I understood what he meant. Perhaps this was the inspiration I needed for the half-finished dress I had been working on in the evenings. The silk was an interesting color, a muted reddish-brown that so far had rebuffed all my attempts to find a contrasting trim. Perhaps the answer was not to try to contrast with it, but to keep it plain and let the color speak for itself. And I would keep the bustle a reasonable size rather than the huge confections that were now in fashion. Some of the fashion plates in the magazines showed bustles that looked as if you could sit on them.

  “I know I can trust your taste and common sense,” Judah said. “This occasion is as important to me as it is to the Calderwoods—as important to us, to our future.”

  My heart sank at that—but in truth, what could I say? I could hardly tell Judah—or even hint—that my affections had transferred themselves elsewhere when the object of those affections was a married man. A married man who, moreover, was clearly determined to remain faithful to his wife in the strict sense of the word. I was glad of that, for I wouldn’t have wanted Martin to be anything less than honorable, but it did render my own future uncertain in the extreme.

  The anger that had calmed somewhat in recent days revived for a second, a flickering flame that had little to feed on. For whom should I blame for the situation I was now in, other than myself?

  “I’m sorry Tess and Sarah will be excluded from the concert,” I said by way of changing the subject. In fact, I resented Tess’s exclusion most strongly. I could understand it wasn’t suitable to have a child at a grand dinner, but Tess was a grown woman and my friend. Even if no obvious dinner partner for her was readily identifiable, it must be possible to find someone.

  In truth, I was chafing at my subordinate position in the seminary more than ever. I had as much wealth—more, probably—than most of the other guests and was their social equal, but I had only been invited on Judah’s behalf. It really was time I made some decisions about my future.

  But then Martin—I jerked into a more upright position, gritting my teeth to disguise my restlessness. This line of thinking got me precisely nowhere every time.

  “I’m sorry too.” And for a moment, Judah looked genuinely sympathetic. “But it’ll be a tremendous crush as it is—the Calderwoods’ rooms are not suited to a crowd.”

  “Well, why not use the chapel? Or even the library? Why try to cram us into two rooms?”

  “We have considered both locations,” Judah answered. “But Mrs. Rutherford says her voice does not sound at all well in the chapel, and that the paneling in the library deadens its resonance. She says the lieder and operetta pieces she has chosen will work better in a more intimate setting.”

  For a fleeting moment, remembering what Tess had told me, I wondered just how intimate that setting had been. And that inst
antly led my thoughts down yet another path they most definitely did not want to follow.

  I rose to my feet, and Judah politely followed suit, looking surprised.

  “Leaving so soon?”

  “I promised Sarah I’d only be gone an hour,” I lied. In fact, I knew Sarah would already be asleep and so, probably, would Tess. But every aspect of this conversation was like a pin sticking into my side, and I could feel my temper beginning to fray. I’d been avoiding heading upstairs to bed because the oblivion of sleep was proving hard to achieve lately—but I didn’t want to remain in Judah’s company either. Encouraging him to think of me as his intended was unwise given my increasing qualms on his account.

  But as I pushed open one of the double doors leading out of the library, a thought hit me like a thunderbolt, and I almost gasped aloud.

  Supposing—just supposing—Mrs. Drummond’s fears about Judah were not simply the product of a mind deranged by grief? If he were dangerous in any way, I could still presume myself safe while he was waiting for an answer to his proposal of marriage. But the moment I refused him—I felt the hairs on my arms stand up and my fingers prickled as a jolt of alarm shot through me.

  Above me, the stairwell faded into darkness. Below, the lamp threw strange shadows suggestive of lurking assassins. As I began to climb, one thought dominated all others. If I planned to refuse Judah, I might need to put many miles between myself and the seminary first.

  “You’re so beautiful, Momma.” Sarah danced around me, careful not to step on my dress, dangling her doll in one hand. “You’ll be the most beautiful lady of all the ladies.”

  I stared at my reflection in the cheval glass I kept in the corner of my workroom for my Springwood clients. In the waning light of a brilliant sunset, not visible from my northerly windows but evident in the pink-gold hue it was casting over the pale walls of the room, the silk of my dress glowed a deep reddish-bronze, almost the same color as my hair. I had arranged that hair in a style that was barely more elaborate than my everyday coiffure. My only ornament was the jet brooch, its twined silver and single large pearl catching sparks of crimson fire from the light.

  It was strange, I thought as I twisted around to view the dress from the back, but the absence of fashionable tiers, frills, pleats, and bows really did suit me. For one thing, you could see the cut of the dress clearly, and cutting was a skill on which I particularly prided myself. Nobody, not the House of Worth itself, could have faulted the drape of the silk that cascaded down from the tightly fitted bodice and gathered into a small, elegant bustle at the back. I had set out with the express purpose of not outshining the other ladies and yet, I realized, I had outdone myself.

  Sarah’s stomach gave a loud gurgle, and we both laughed.

  “I’m hungry, I’m hungry,” Sarah chanted and grinned impishly at me, showing the gap where she had lost both of her lower teeth.

  “You certainly are.” I reached for her hand, using my free hand to lift my train clear of obstacles. “Let’s go upstairs and see if Tess has your special supper ready.”

  It still rankled that Tess couldn’t even attend the concert. But I supposed I couldn’t leave Sarah alone anyway, and no servant would be free to watch her. If Sarah had lived in a conventional household, I mused as we climbed the stairs, she would no doubt have some kind of governess or nursemaid to look after her. And I still hadn’t done anything about enrolling her in a school. This whole business with Judah—and then Martin—and men and marriage in general was proving a ridiculous hindrance to decision making.

  Tess and I had decided to treat Sarah to a supper in our room, with sugar-plums and little cakes begged from Netta. They were the inducement for Sarah not to fret after seeing the ladies and gentlemen in their finery. A new box of marbles and another of jackstraws would provide a novel diversion until it was time for bed.

  I hugged both of them hard, feeling unaccountably guilty that I would enjoy some elegant society while they hid far above.

  “Don’t worry, Nell,” was Tess’s rejoinder when she saw my face. “I wouldn’t want them all staring at me anyhow.”

  “They wouldn’t stare at you if they knew you.”

  “But they don’t want to know me.” Tess smiled, but there was a tremor in her voice. We were speaking in undertones while Sarah lay on her bed, inspecting the beautiful colors of the new marbles. “They want to know you because you’re pretty and talk like a lady.”

  “We’re going to have to change this,” I sighed. “When we were all hidden away together, I didn’t mind so much. But I don’t want to spend my time in the light while you skulk in the shadows.”

  “If you marry Mr. Poulton, that’s just where I’ll be.” Tess’s lower lip stuck out. “He thinks children should be seen and not heard, and I’ll bet he thinks imbeciles shouldn’t be seen at all.”

  I gave Tess a level look, trying to convey my earnestness to her. “I don’t think I’m going to marry him, Tess. But listen—don’t even hint as much to him or anyone else before I’ve given my answer, will you? I’ve gotten myself into an awkward situation with him, and I have to think hard about how to get out of it. I don’t want any unpleasantness.”

  Tess’s face brightened, and she hugged me again. “I’ve been praying you’ll say no,” she said. “I want you to marry, but not him. I wish Martin were free.”

  And what should I say to that? I wished Martin were free too. I simply shook my head and smiled as brightly as I could. “I’d better go,” I said. “I feel like Daniel marching into the lions’ den.”

  Sarah heard that last remark and made a loud growling noise. Tess joined in, and they were both snarling and growling at me as I backed, laughing, through the door onto the landing.

  And now all I had to do was to listen to a concert sung by a woman whose existence was, well, inconvenient to me, after sitting at a grand dinner next to a man who thought he was going to marry me but wasn’t, in the presence of a man who—

  “Just stop that right now, Eleanor Lillington,” I muttered to myself as I walked downstairs, the silken train of my dress rustling behind me. “It’s just a dinner. Nobody’s going to pay much attention to you, and nothing is going to happen.”

  38

  Gilded cage

  “Can I not tempt you to another morsel?” Dr. Calderwood smiled ingratiatingly as he waved his hand toward the platter Bella was holding.

  “I eat very little when I’m about to sing,” Lucetta replied.

  She was a bejeweled vision in deep blue silk trimmed in silver, with sapphires and diamonds sparkling at her ears, neck, and wrists. Beside her, Martin, immaculately turned out in a beautifully cut dress coat with a pearl-gray waistcoat, was a suitable foil to her magnificence.

  Martin was deep in conversation with Mr. McGovern, the grain merchant, but I saw his gaze flick in my direction from time to time. I tried not to look at him too often, of course. Judah was making a point of referring to me frequently as the conversation wandered around the news of the day and local concerns, so he kept me busy answering questions and volunteering opinions. Talking nonsense, Bet would have said, and she would have been right.

  With forty guests, the gathering was both noisy and warm. The servants had arranged the refectory tables in a U-shape, with the Calderwoods at the center of the main table. The room was a bustle of servants arriving and departing with dishes and the occasional guest seeking the retiring rooms.

  Several of my clients were there. Mr. and Mrs. Shemmeld and the Addises were at the main table, and the Durkins, Mortimores, Fairlands, and Haywards were on the flanking arms. It was amusing to see so many of my dresses in one place, although I couldn’t see them all that well because my back was to the room. I vowed to make the most of the opportunity offered by the concert to observe the dresses of all the ladies, especially those from farther afield.

  I had let my thoughts wander as Lucetta talked about her music with the couple opposite her. A direct reference to me by Dr. Calderwood pulled m
e out of my woolgathering.

  “Mrs. Lillington, of course, has been content to fulfill the role of seamstress in our establishment, which is most gracious of her.” He bowed in my direction. “But a little bird tells me she is destined for a much more prominent role in society in the future. I, for one, will rejoice at her elevation.”

  Coupled with my position next to Judah, this was tantamount to telling the assembled company we were engaged to be married.

  I felt the color rise to my cheeks, and saw Martin’s mouth tighten. He had definitely heard the remark, but he continued talking commodity prices with Mr. McGovern and the latter’s morose wife, who seemed to know a great deal about her husband’s business.

  “Mrs. Lillington could take on any role in society with ease,” gushed Mrs. Addis, who was several seats away but had been craning her neck to hear the conversation at the center of the table. I noticed she wore a deep purple gown and not the black I had made for her. Evidently, she was willing to cast aside her full mourning when it suited her.

  “Indeed, indeed.” Dr. Calderwood turned the full force of his teeth on Mrs. Addis and myself in turn. “Mrs. Calderwood and I believe the time has come to begin thinking about an expansion of the Eternal Life Seminary. Indeed, we are running short on the kind of accommodation we would like to offer to our young gentlemen, and our facilities are sadly old-fashioned, I fear. Gas lighting, indoor, ahem, plumbing—if I may mention such a thing in the presence of the ladies—and a properly leveled road to Springwood, such things as these are improvements that we must, nay, will make in the near future.”