A Lady of Hidden Intent

by Tracie Peterson

  “He hasn’t yet returned from New York. I’m simply pining away for the both of them.”

  “Both?”

  Winifred nodded. “Leander went with him. I suppose it was some kind of legal business, but I’ve been deprived of both of them now for far too long.”

  Catherine shrugged and tried to put it behind her. “I’m certain it must have been important or Mr. Arlington would never have left your side.”

  “Oh, Catherine, do you really think he might be interested in me?”

  The longing in the younger woman’s voice reminded Catherine of her own pining heart. “He seemed very interested when I saw him in your company.”

  “And what of you? Do you miss Carter’s company? Is he not the most attentive and kindest of men?”

  Catherine startled at the question. “He’s very nice,” she allowed.

  “But I hardly know him well enough to miss him.”

  “Would you like to know him better?” Winifred asked, her expression innocent.

  The carriage hit a hole, causing Catherine to jerk hard to the right. She hit her head against the carriage frame and winced.

  She righted herself, making more of the impact than needed in hopes that Winifred would change the topic of conversation.

  “Are you all right?” Winifred leaned forward, letting her lap blanket slide to the floor.

  “I think so. I should have been better prepared.”

  “Father says that the city would do well to spend more money on the streets than worry about improving the dock areas. He says he pays a fortune in taxes and never benefits from a single cent.” She smiled and eased back against the thickly cushioned leather. “Of course, my father says a great many things.”

  Catherine smiled. “Fathers can be that way.”

  “My father is difficult,” Winifred admitted. “He married my mother only for her money and never lets her forget it.”

  “How sad.”

  Winifred nodded. “It’s made Mother a miserable and hopeless person.”

  “A life without hope is difficult to bear,” Catherine admitted. She knew firsthand how that felt. How hard it was to wait for news from England, only to feel more sorrow upon the arrival. There had been no word of her father in so long, she had begun to fear that perhaps he had died.

  “Catherine, I hope you don’t mind accompanying me again. Your advice to me on our last shopping trip was so helpful. I know you were paid to join me, and for that I’m sorry. I didn’t know that Carter would arrange such a thing.”

  “Your brother has a way of arranging things whether people like it or not, but I have to admit sharing company with you is a very pleasurable thing. I do worry, however, that you are not spending time with friends of your own social background.”

  “May I be perfectly candid?” Winifred asked.

  Catherine saw nothing but sincerity in her expression. “But of course.”

  “I am not like them. I care very little for trinkets and finery. I suppose because I’ve always had those things, they mean less. But when I consider living without them, I know I could be quite happy. Carter and Leander are the two most important people to me in all of the world. But you, Catherine . . . you are rapidly becoming just as precious to me.”

  Catherine felt the impact of Winifred’s words deep within her. She longed to embrace the intimacy and friendship offered, for the toll of shielding herself from others had made her weary. Even Selma had commented about how Catherine never smiled anymore. This, on the heels of Carter’s observation, only served to make Catherine realize how dull she had grown.

  “You are very kind to say so,” Catherine replied.

  “The women I have known in my life—the friends and even my mother—well, they are all far too interested in their latest gown or silver setting. My mother has vast books with drawings of her china and silver. She knows it better than she knows me.”

  Winifred bit her lip for a moment and when she looked again at Catherine, there were tears in her eyes.

  “She’s not bad, and neither are my friends, but they’ve given their hearts over to pretense. And when that pretense fails them, they become backstabbing and vicious toward one another. Carter likens it to a pack of hungry wolves who turn on each other when other nourishment is gone.”

  Catherine nodded. “I have known people like that myself.”

  “Then you must understand why your friendship is so important. I find no pretense in you.”

  Catherine shuddered. There was nothing but pretense in her life. She felt so wrong in keeping her identity from Winifred that she considered telling her the entire story. Instead, she finally settled on yet another compromise. “Winifred, please do not put me on a pedestal. I have pretense aplenty in my life. One day I hope things will right themselves, and I will be able to share it with you.”

  Winifred leaned forward and took hold of Catherine’s hands. “I would never betray you. I hope you will feel I am worthy of your trust.”

  The carriage slowed to a stop, and Joseph was soon opening the door, much to Catherine’s relief. Winifred dropped her hold and allowed Joseph to help her from the carriage. She waited without moving a step while Catherine did the same.

  They did not revisit the conversation, even when they stopped for tea and cakes. Catherine enjoyed the day more than any she could remember since coming to America. Once she allowed herself the liberty of pleasure, she realized just how serious and hard she had grown.

  But how can I be happy when I know Father is so miserable and mistreated? What a betrayal of his love for me, should I forget what he has sacrificed on my behalf. No, I must keep my mind on the goal at hand. I must help set Father free and allow no distraction to take me from his cause.

  When they were once again parked in front of Mrs. Clarkson’s, Winifred took hold of Catherine’s hands. “I very much enjoyed our day. I hope you did as well.”

  “I truly did,” Catherine admitted.

  “I’m glad. Now, would you do me one more favor? Mother has asked that I remain at home on the eighth. I know we were to have a fitting for my gown, but I’m wondering if you would come to the house for me.”

  Catherine thought for a moment. With Carter in New York, she wasn’t overly worried about running into him. Yet there was a part of her that almost hoped he would have returned by that time.

  “I believe I can arrange that.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll send the carriage.”

  “I would be happy to walk,” Catherine said, knowing that there could very well be a foot of snow by that time.

  “No. Please let me send Joseph. That way we’ll have more time to visit.” She smiled and it lit up her entire face.

  Catherine tried to remember ever being as happy and carefree as Winifred Danby. There had been a time, she knew full well, but now it felt like it had been a million years ago.

  Long into the night Catherine listened to the wind outside. The moans and creaks of the house seemed almost comforting. How could five years have escaped her already? England seemed so far away, so distant in her memories. There had been a time when Catherine knew she would never have left it, but now . . . well, now it seemed foreign, even hostile.

  “Oh, Father, how could they have done this to you—to us? I don’t understand why you should suffer and spend your days in prison. You were so honored and respected, yet no one came to your call. Not even God.”

  She thought of that for several moments and hugged her pillow close. How very alone the idea left her. To imagine that even God had looked the other way—had deserted them in their darkest hour of need.

  “There isn’t that much to contend with.” Catherine picked up a large box. “I have your gown. Will your mother want to see it as well?”

  Winifred led Catherine into the house. “My mother is busy worrying Cook about plans for the party.” She giggled and cast a glance down the hall. “Mother worries Cook on a regular basis, whether there is a party to contend with or nothing but a simple m
eal to plan. Come, I want to see what you’ve done.”

  Catherine allowed Winifred to lead her to a door down the hall. She was rather surprised when they entered a room lined in dark wood bookshelves.

  “This is my brother’s study. Since he’s still gone, I thought we might use it for a fitting room. It has very good light, at least the best we can have this time of year.”

  Thinking of Carter had nearly driven Catherine mad in the past few days. No matter what she did or where she turned, there were reminders of him. Now, standing here in his domain, she could imagine him behind the desk, smiling at her.

  “Will this work sufficiently?” Winifred asked.

  Catherine forced her thoughts back to the deed at hand.

  “Yes. It’s perfectly fine.”

  Winifred locked the door so that they wouldn’t be disturbed.

  “I am so excited. I know the party is still weeks away, but I’ve only seen the dress in pieces until today.”

  “I hope you’ll be pleased. I think it will be perfect for you,” Catherine said as she placed the box atop Carter’s desk. She opened it and pulled the gown from inside. “What do you think?”

  Winifred grasped the pink fabric and gently trailed her fingers along the cording at the waist. “It’s so beautiful. Oh, Catherine, I can hardly believe this is mine.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I’m quite pleased with the way Beatrix worked the sleeves. She’s very talented and yet only ten and four.”

  “I could never sew half so well. My nurse was appalled at my poor sewing.”

  “It was my governess who taught me to sew. She died in the same influenza epidemic that took my mother’s life,” Catherine said. Then realizing what she’d revealed, she stood motionless, waiting.

  Winifred recognized the slip as well. “So Mrs. Shay isn’t your mother, is she?”

  Catherine shook her head. “No. They have adopted me, in a sense.”

  “And you grew up in a fine house just like this, didn’t you?”Winifred pressed.

  “Yes. I did. My father owned ships and did quite well for himself. I grew up with every beautiful thing I could want.”

  “Come and sit with me. We can try the gown on in a moment,” Winifred said, pulling at Catherine’s arm.

  Carefully placing the gown across a chair, Catherine allowed Winifred to lead her to a chair. They sat for a moment before Winifred continued. “I knew there was something about you from the start. You know what it is like to be deceived by those around you.”

  Catherine nodded. “You must understand something, Winifred. Nothing I’ve told you must ever be told to anyone else. My father’s very life might be in danger if you share this information.”

  “I swear to you I will not betray our friendship. Others might, but I will not,” she said in earnest. “But can you not talk of it at least to me? Is there no one?”

  “I talk with the Shays; they are like parents to me and have been with me since I came to America.”“And your father?”

  “My father was wrongly accused of transporting slaves. You know what that means in this day and age; people on both sides of the ocean are livid with the very idea that slavery still exists.

  Shipping and trading in slaves has been outlawed in England for a very long time. I think they meant to make an example of him.”

  “But how did he come to be accused?”

  “His partner, the son of a dear friend that my father took pity on, betrayed him. To make extra money for his own pockets, he dealt in slaves. When he was found out, he went on the run and took much of my father’s money with him.”

  “How awful. Oh, Catherine, I am sorry. What did they do to your father? Is he also on the run?”

  “No. They imprisoned him for the rest of his life. I am trying to do what I can to earn money in order to buy him decent legal counsel, as well as someone to hunt down Finley Baker, the man responsible for all of this.” Catherine felt such a tremendous relief just in telling the tale to someone. The words poured out of her like an unstoppable flood going over a broken dam.

  “I had to take the Shays’ name in order to conceal my identity. We feared—even here in America—that finding jobs and even housing would be difficult if others knew that my father was a convicted criminal. There’s also been worry that Finley Baker means to do me harm. We’ve vowed to tell no one of this. At least, I had until now.”

  “I can see why you keep the story quiet. Some people might try to take advantage of you, while others would surely shun you. I will do neither. I will instead pray for you. I know you are a God-fearing woman. Carter always claims there is great power in prayer. Do you believe that?”

  Catherine shook her head. “I don’t know. I used to . . . Now I just don’t know what to think. I go to church week after week,

  I read my Bible, and I pray until my knees ache. But my father is still in prison, and I am still . . .” Her words faded. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  “Alone?” Winifred asked softly.

  Lifting her eyes, Catherine shook her head. “Afraid.”

  Winifred dropped to the floor and knelt beside Catherine. Taking her hand, Winifred held it tight. “Don’t be afraid. I know what that feels like, and it is so crippling. You mustn’t let the fear overcome you. God has not left you as an orphan or friendless in this time of need. I want to help you in any way I can.” Her eyes filled with tears, and the sincerity of her emotion touched Catherine, whose own eyes grew damp as Winifred continued.

  “I pledge to you my friendship and help. I will endeavor to pray for you and your father. Catherine, don’t lose hope. God has not forgotten you.”

  After five years of hearing various ministers preach powerful sermons from high pulpits, it was the words of this young woman that gave Catherine strength. She found herself clutching Winifred’s hands in gratitude.

  “Thank you. You cannot possibly know what you have done for me. I feel . . . well . . . somehow renewed. Your words have restored me. I do not doubt that God hears me, but I do not understand why He waits so long to act. I do not doubt He cares, but I worry that His way of caring is much different from that which I so desperately need.”

  “I do understand,” Winifred said, nodding. “I have watched my parents live in this loveless marriage and hate each other. My father keeps a mistress that we all try to pretend doesn’t exist. We are just four individuals existing in the same house . . . not really a family at all.”

  “What about Carter? I know he loves you dearly.”

  Winifred smiled. “Yes. He does love me. He has always made life bearable. But I fear he will not be here much longer.”

  Catherine felt her chest tighten. “But why? Surely he would not desert you.”

  “He told me it was time for him to set up for himself. When I asked him if he would remain in Philadelphia, he could not say. His buildings are so very important to him, and I suppose he shall go wherever his work is most appreciated.”

  The thought of Carter’s leaving sent a wave of regret through Catherine’s heart. Regret for what might have been had she been free to accept his attention. Regret for the deception that she had to maintain to keep him at arm’s length.

  Catherine forced the thoughts from her head. “I really should get back to work. We haven’t even fit the gown, and Mrs. Clarkson will expect me back soon.”

  Winifred nodded. “One more thing. Carter once told me that we shouldn’t fear putting the past behind us. He said that God is about doing new things—creating beauty out of the ashes of despair and defeat. God can and will do that for you, Catherine.

  I feel confident of it. I want you to feel confident of it too.”

  Winifred’s words echoed in her head long after Catherine had returned to Mrs. Clarkson’s. She remembered Bible verses she’d marked in the forty-third chapter of Isaiah and went to look at them once again.

  Taking up her father’s Bible she read, Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things
of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert. She gave a sigh and closed the Bible, holding it close.

  “I want to believe in a new thing, Lord. I want that more than anything. I want to forget the old things—the bad and ugly things that have sent me here. Please let me see your hand in all of this. Let me see the path through this wilderness.”

  A knock sounded at her bedroom door, and Catherine immediately recognized it as Mrs. Clarkson and went to open the door.

  “I saw the light and had hoped to talk to you before you retired for the evening,” Mrs. Clarkson stated. She held some papers in her hand and motioned to the small table where Catherine often sat to sew in private. “May I show you something?”

  “Of course. Come in.” Catherine closed the door behind Mrs. Clarkson as she made her way to the table and spread out the papers.

  “I wanted to surprise you with an early Christmas gift.” The older woman smiled. “I want to make you a partner.”

  “Excuse me?” Catherine was sure she couldn’t have heard correctly.

  “You have more than tripled my business in the last two years with your designs. You have brought prosperity upon this house in a way no other seamstress could have done. I am growing older, and although my age will not keep me from work for many years, I want to establish the person I want to take over when I am too elderly to work.

  “As you know, I have no family, so I must name an heir from someone I trust. I want that heir to be you. When I am gone, you will know how to continue the business. You are an intelligent young woman who knows her own mind. You will not be easily swayed to bad choices.”

  Catherine went to the table and skimmed the papers. Mrs. Clarkson had gone to a lawyer to have them drawn up, and the contents were quite explicit. It wasn’t until Catherine’s gaze caught the words Catherine Shay that she stopped and shook her head.

  “This is all too much for me. I’m sorry. Let us discuss it another time.”

  Without warning, Catherine fled from the room. She knew she must have appeared to be quite the ungrateful ninny to Mrs. Clarkson, but she couldn’t remain there to explain.