“I wish you could have been here tonight, Mother,” she whispered in the chilled room. The night felt so damp and cold that even the small fire in her hearth did little to dispel it. Perhaps it would snow. Snow would at least keep Father home. He wouldn’t risk a journey to Bristol if there were any threat of being delayed. It would be of great comfort to have him home. Especially for the holidays.
Catherine slipped into the hall and made her way downstairs. She paused on the first floor, seeing a light glow from under her father’s library door. Could he have found sleep an elusive friend as well? Perhaps they might talk over the evening.
She decided to forgo the refreshment and instead went to her father’s office, where she could now hear voices. Frowning, she recognized her father’s business partner, Finley Baker. The man offered her nothing but misgivings about his gender.
“Consider it a final favor, then, Newbury. The truth is upon us.”
“But it is a truth of which I had no knowledge.” Catherine’s father sounded very upset. She thought to interrupt as she reached for the door handle, then pulled back as Baker laughed bitterly.
“It matters not that you had no knowledge. Your name is on every ledger and invoice. You might as well have known from the start, for that is what will be presumed—if not proven—for the courts.”
“This is an outrage, sir!” her father declared, and the sound of something being hit or thrown caused Catherine to nearly jump out of her skin. It wasn’t like her father to lose his temper. “I have never agreed to deal in illegal goods, as you well know.”
“Be that as it may, Newbury, there is no help for it now. The authorities will be fast upon my heels. I would expect them no later than this morning. Now I will take my leave, but you should credit me at least with having the decency to give you warning.”
Catherine heard someone move for the door. As the handle began to turn, she quickly backed into the room across the hall and disappeared into the darkness. She could see from her hiding place that Baker now stood in the doorway, his back to her.
“Newbury, they will surely take hold of your assets. You would be wise to take what you can and leave the country. That is my purpose at this moment. Our ship The Adelaide is harbored at Plymouth. We can surely make it there and escape this matter. Why, in a fortnight we could be resting easy and sipping the finest of French wines.”
“I don’t mean to leave, Baker. This matter must be faced as an honorable man would deal with any unpleasant deception thrust upon him.”
Baker laughed. “Be the scapegoat. It really matters little to me. They will confiscate your home and put you in prison. No doubt put that pretty daughter of yours there as well.”
“Get out!”
Catherine backed even farther into the room’s confines. She had never seen her father angrier. He lunged for Baker, but the man merely sidestepped his attack and headed down the hall.
“Mark my words, Newbury. You will find little comfort in the days to come.”
Catherine heard the man’s boots stomp on the stairs as he raced from the house. No doubt he would be gone even before one of the servants could be summoned to hold him for the authorities.
Creeping toward the hallway, Catherine watched her father shake his head and go back into the library. She knew he probably wouldn’t wish her to have been witness to the affair, but she couldn’t lie to him and say otherwise.
“Father, what in the world was that all about?”
Nelson Newbury looked up from the hearth where he now stood. “Catherine, what are you doing up?”
“I heard voices. I’m ashamed to admit I listened at your door.”
“Then you know the worst of it,” he said, hanging his head.
“No, I’m not sure that I do. I heard Mr. Baker say that the authorities would soon be here to take you to prison, but I do not pretend to know why.” She felt a tight band wrap her chest, threatening to cut off her very breath. “Why would he say such things, Father?”
“Because my ships have been caught with contraband. Slaves from Africa.”
“Slaves? Surely not. We’ve never traded in slaves. We do not believe in such things.” She went to his side. “It must be a mistake.”
“No mistake, unfortunately. Baker planned it all out and made a tidy profit for himself.” Her father’s tone left little doubt of his bitterness. “I can scarce believe the man would do such a deplorable thing, but to the authorities it will matter little what I believed of him.”
Catherine took hold of his arm. “Father, this surely cannot be the end of it. You must send men to capture Mr. Baker. He has told you where he is headed. Let the authorities know this, so that they might keep him from leaving the country. You were a victim of Mr. Baker’s duplicity. That is hardly worthy of imprisonment.”
Her father straightened and met her gaze. “Daughter, you must get away from here.”
“I will not. I will not leave your side.”
“If you do not, I cannot focus on what must be done to clear my name. There is no telling what the authorities will deem necessary to resolve the matter. I will not have my estates confiscated and my daughter left to fend for herself. I will call Dugan. He and Selma may go with you. They have been faithful servants, but no doubt they will see their livelihood gone with this chaos. Go to Bristol. My dear friend Captain Marlowe will see you safely out of harm’s way.” Her father hurried to his desk and took up pen and paper.
“I won’t go.” Catherine shook her head. “Stop. I won’t leave you, Father.”
“You must. If you love me, then I beg you to do this thing for me. If the matter is easily resolved, I will merely send for you again. I will not have you bear the consequences of my mistakes.
Captain Marlowe has family in America. I believe it would do you good to visit and see New York City, perhaps. It is quite fascinating.”
Catherine could see his determination. “Is there no other way? No other hope for me to remain at your side?”
“No. I have not begun to tell you the full details, but let me say this much: Two men were murdered this night in Bristol by Baker’s hand. There will be little rest for anyone until these issues are resolved.” He dropped the pen and went to one of the bookcases. Pulling out several volumes, he placed the books on his desk, then went back to open a concealed compartment. “You will take this money and see to your needs. To the needs of Dugan and Selma as well.”
The clock chimed from over the mantel. It was only a quarter until five. Soon the entire household would be about their duties. Catherine felt a chill permeate her body. Not even her housecoat could ward off the sense of doom that was now upon them.
“Here,” her father said, thrusting a small leather satchel into her hands. “Take it and hide it well. The morning train would be the best way to get to Bristol, but I fear it will be watched. I’ll advise Dugan to take the carriage.”
Catherine hugged the satchel to her breast. “Why don’t you come with us, Father? You can resolve the matter from America.”
He looked at her sadly and gently touched her cheek. “I might be a poor judge of men, but I am no coward. I will face my mistakes, but I will not allow my only remaining child to do so as well.”
She threw herself into his arms and held him as though she might drown if she let go. And truly that was what she felt might happen. How could she lose him like this? She’d only bid her mother and siblings good-bye two years ago. She needed him. He was her only connection to the past—to her mother and brothers—to her childhood.
Sobbing, she tried one more time. “Please let me stay with you.”
“I love you too much to allow for that, kitten. You must be a good girl now. You must be brave and stand fast that I might also do the same.”
She recognized the rough, desperate plea in his voice and knew her show of sorrow and despair was taking its toll on him.
The thought sobered her, and straightening, Catherine stretched on tiptoe and kissed her father’s chee
k.
“I love you, Father. I will go to America, but even from there I will do whatever is possible to be at your aid—at your side.”
“You will always be with me—at least in heart,” he whispered. He kissed her forehead, then put her away from him. “Now go pack. There isn’t time or the ability to take many things, I’m sorry to say. Take what will service you well. It will be cold on the Atlantic—I know it well. Take whatever will see you through the winter.”
Catherine nodded and turned for the door. She wanted desperately to look back—to see his face and memorize every detail. A fear began to eat at her—tearing away her strength and resolve. She might never see him again. This might very well be good-bye.
CHAPTER 1
Philadelphia
June 1855
Catherine, where are you?”
Looking up from the bodice she’d just pinned, Catherine called out, “I’m here, Mrs. Clarkson. In the sewing room.” Her employer, a stocky woman whose curly brown hair had been pulled straight back into a tight little bun, charged into the room like a general taking new ground.
“The news is very good. Your designs have been talked about all over the world.”
“Excuse me?”
“Everyone is excited. Remember when I went to the Industry of the Nations exhibit in Paris? Well, I gave some of your drawings to my friends in the fashion industry there. Catherine Shay is a name they are now speaking with great reverence. They believe you will soon be known throughout all of society as the most reputable of American fashion designers for women.”
Catherine straightened and put the bodice aside. She could scarcely believe Mrs. Clarkson was serious.
“Surely you jest. There are far too many credible French designers to worry about a silly . . . American woman.” Catherine nearly stumbled on the description of herself. It had been five years since she’d come to hide in America. She couldn’t risk losing that shelter now. Of course, if Mrs. Clarkson had her way, the entire world would be privy to Catherine’s hiding place.
Mrs. Clarkson took a chair and pulled it up to the sewing table. “My dear, you are already greatly appreciated here. Why, every woman in Philadelphia is now demanding your fresh designs for their gowns. I cannot even allow you to take time away from your creative work to merely sew on garments of lesser value.”
Catherine laughed. “You exaggerate, of course. Although, I appreciate your kind regard.”
“It is not exaggeration. With the winter season beginning and holiday gowns in demand, you will soon see the truth of it. I had no fewer than ten requests for your personal attention and design. I’ve no doubt there will be at least another fifty before the end of the month.”
“Well, I certainly hope for your sake that is true, but of course I cannot possibly design fifty or sixty new gowns in the time needed.”
“But don’t you see? That is what will make your creations even more sought after. Women will know that they will be among the chosen few, should they get a gown designed by Shay.” She smiled and pulled off her gold-rimmed glasses. “I am quite pleased, my dear. You must know that.”
Catherine heard the satisfaction in Mrs. Clarkson’s voice as she added, “The business is doing very well, and you can be quite proud of what you have accomplished.”
It was true. The business was doing exceptionally well. Only the day before a new sign had been delivered and installed over the door of the modest four-story brick building. It read Clarkson’s Dressmaking in large lettering. Then in smaller print, Specialized Designs for Women.
“No one works alone here,” Catherine finally offered. “We all do our part. Praise me if you will, but then allow that such praise must also fall back on yourself and the others.”
“My dear, I will not be swayed. I know very well that your work here has brought about much of my success. Your designs are unequaled, except perhaps for those in France.” She grinned mischievously. “I cannot discredit my own countrymen—no matter that I have been an American lo these thirty-two years. My, but it does not seem so much time has passed. Only yesterday Jean Pierre and I were working to tailor suits for fashionable men of means.” She sighed and leaned back in the chair. “My brother is greatly missed. He was such a comfort to me after my own husband died; now I must comfort myself in knowing I shall one day see them both in heaven.”
“I can very well understand,” Catherine replied, not daring to meet Mrs. Clarkson’s eyes. “At least I like to imagine that I can,” she added, lest there be any question to her comment.
The longing to see her father again was something that ate at Catherine’s heart daily. For so long there had been no word—no understanding of what had happened to him. She knew he had been sent to prison, but little else. With his assets taken by the Crown, there had been little hope of proper representation.
“Well, we must each bear our cross, no?”
“It is true.” Catherine held up the bodice. “I think this will work nicely for Mrs. Stern.” The low neckline was something Catherine had imitated after seeing a fashion plate in Peterson’s Magazine.
“She does like to reveal more of herself than most,” Mrs.
Clarkson said, admiring Catherine’s work. “You have made it perfectly.”
Catherine smiled. “We shall see.”
“Mrs. Clarkson?” A young girl of no more than fifteen entered the room. She brought a pattern to the older woman and frowned.
“I cannot seem to remember how to enlarge the bust.”
“Lydia, you cannot advance to Improver if you are slack in your work. Pay attention to the little things.” Mrs. Clarkson got on her feet. “Come to the table by the window.”
Catherine watched the girl begrudgingly follow. Lydia had been troubled since moving into the sewing house. She had apprenticed for a year before coming to live at Clarkson’s, and the transition had not been easy. She missed her mother and sisters greatly and cried herself to sleep on many a night. Catherine had tried to befriend her, but Lydia seemed inclined toward Felicia, one of the more troublesome young women in the house.
Living at the sewing house had been Catherine’s deliverance. It had been made even better by the fact that besides hiring Catherine because of her sewing abilities, Mrs. Clarkson had needed Dugan and Selma for their skills. Selma now cooked and cleaned for the house, and Dugan handled her yards and carriage.
Their time in America had been arduous, but finding work here with Mrs. Clarkson had been an answer to prayer. Catherine didn’t even mind the long hours. Spending ten or twelve hours sewing each day gave her little time to feel sorry for herself. By the time the holidays came around, the hours increased to fifteen, and even then Catherine was grateful. It was a difficult task, but Catherine found that with some effort she was slowly purging the memories of better days gone by.
Catherine put the bodice away and made her way upstairs to her room. Her shoulders ached from sitting hunched over her work. It would soon be time to retire for the night, and there were still things she needed to tend to. Two blouses and several pairs of stockings would need to be washed by hand. Then, of course, she had tried to be faithful to read her Bible and spend time in prayer for her father.
“I hoped I might catch you before you went to bed.”
Catherine looked up to find the ever-faithful Selma. “Of course. Shall we go to your quarters?”
Selma nodded. The woman had been like a mother to Catherine for these five long years. Yet Selma had always been special. When Nanny Bryce had died during the same influenza epidemic that claimed her mother and brothers, Catherine had sought solace in Selma’s company.
“We’ve had a letter,” Selma whispered conspiratorially as Catherine joined her.
“From home?”
“Yes. It’s not much, but it will offer a thread of hope.”
Catherine had great difficulty keeping her hopes up. Selma had told her over and over that God had not forgotten them, but that wasn’t how it felt.
In their fourth-floor apartment, Dugan already had a fire lit in welcome. Catherine smiled as she came into their tiny sitting room. Apparently Dugan wasn’t the only one who had anticipated her arrival. Selma had tea and buttered bread waiting to refresh them.
“Dugan, how are you tonight?”
“I’m fit as a fiddle, miss. You needn’t worry about old Dugan.”
He smiled and pointed to the chair nearest the hearth. “You sit yourself right now.”
Catherine knew better than to argue. The chair offered was Dugan’s favorite, but he would not hear of her sitting elsewhere.
“Selma said you’d had a letter.”
“A short one,” Selma explained as she retrieved the missive.
“ ’Tis from my sister Agnes.” She extended the letter to Catherine.
“You read while I pour tea.”
Reading the contents was as refreshing as a glass of cold water on a warm day. There was the usual chatter about missing Selma and Dugan, as well as the exchange of pleasantries and news of the family. Finally there were a few lines regarding Catherine’s father.
“ ‘We do not know,’ ” Catherine read aloud, “ ‘how our master endures his days in the prison. When we learned he was resettled in an institution nearby, Bradley tried to see him, but they would not allow for visitors. They assured us he was well and, in truth, Bradley felt the prison to be smaller and in better condition than most.’
“At least we know where he is,” Catherine murmured, then continued reading.
“ ‘Mr. Newbury was always of strong constitution. We pray that has followed him through his incarceration. The prison guard told Bradley that Mr. Newbury’s sentence would see him there another twenty years.’ ”
Catherine felt the words cut deep. “ ‘There has come word that Mr. Baker was seen in France, but whether or not the proper authorities could be notified before he slipped away once again, no one can say. Then, too, this might well be nothing more than useless gossip.’ ”
A Lady of Hidden Intent Page 2
