Cheryl St. John

by The Mistaken Widow

  If there’d been men before Stephen, there certainly would never have been any after. Sarah had never known two people in love before. But she’d recognized it when she’d seen it.

  So Claire had led a rough life. She’d lived in a slum area and worked in a sweatshop until she’d met a man involved in the theater and gone to work as a seamstress and costumer. That didn’t make her the gold digger Nicholas believed her.

  Too tired to do more than slip out of her dress and stockings, Sarah unpinned her hair and slid between the sheets in her underclothing.

  His challenge to ask for anything she wanted had prompted her boldness in asking for the papers. But he had agreed to provide them. And even after the fiasco with Celia, he’d kept his word. Why? It seemed too much to believe he had a conscience in there somewhere where she was concerned. Maybe he’d experienced a twinge of guilt for having his sister-in-law investigated. She doubted it.

  Closing her eyes, Sarah prayed William wouldn’t wake too early. But exhausted as she was, sleep eluded her. Self-recriminations rolled through her mind more acutely than the dull throb in her leg.

  She’d told one person the truth that day. Celia. She’d always thought that telling the truth set a person free; however, she was anything but free now. Celia’s knowing who she really was bound her more securely to the lie. Now she had to double her defenses and her efforts to keep Nicholas from finding out.

  Claire hadn’t deserved to die. No matter how unpleasant her past, no matter who her parents were, she’d loved Stephen and would have made him a good wife.

  Celia hadn’t deserved to hear the truth about her daughter like she had. It might have been better than an impersonal telegram, and there was no good way to announce a loved one’s death, but she hadn’t deserved this.

  Sarah’s stomach ached with the depth of her deception. What would all this lead to?

  Before long, she would gather William and leave. At this point getting away from Nicholas and his suspicions, running out from under the stifling web of lies she’d woven for herself should come as a relief. But she didn’t know how she would she do it, what she would say. Just take off? Leave a letter, confessing?

  Leda had been warm and welcoming, and the dear woman loved William so much. How could Sarah just leave her and Nicholas to deal with the shock of knowing Stephen’s true wife was dead and that Sarah had done nothing about it?

  Even Celia must think her a monster for allowing Claire’s body to go unclaimed, undiscovered. The horror of that had plagued Sarah from the first.

  She rolled to her back and stared at the shadowy ceiling. As a Halliday, she had resources at her fingertips. The Hallidays would spend their money finding Claire, so there was no reason she shouldn’t do it for them.

  Obviously sleep was for those with clear consciences.

  She scrambled to the side of the bed, found the tin of matches and lit the rose-painted glass oil lamp. Fumbling through the papers, she found the name of the investigator Nicholas had hired. She would hire a different agent to assure he would not contact Nicholas. Here was something she could do before she left. It wouldn’t make up for the lies, of course, but it would be a way to make up what she’d done to Leda and Nicholas when they learned the truth. Perhaps, too, it would be an atonement to Claire’s mother.

  Carrying her small lamp, Sarah slipped down the hallway to the lavender room, and stealthily opened the door.

  Celia’s frizzy head could be seen above the back of one of the chairs. “Are you awake?”

  “I’m awake.”

  Sarah slipped around and sat on the footstool. “I’ve made a decision.”

  “What’s that?”

  “First thing tomorrow I’m sending a wire to the Pinkerton Agency and arranging for them to find what happened to Claire’s body.” Perhaps Sarah would have a small measure of peace if she knew, if she could bring Claire to lie beside her husband in the Mahoning Valley cemetery.

  “That make you feel better?” Celia asked.

  “I was hoping it would make you feel better.” Celia would have something tangible to grieve over. If she could find it in her selfish heart to grieve. Or if she stayed sober long enough.

  Sarah admonished herself for her unkind thoughts.

  “It’s the least I can do,” she continued. “Actually it’s all I can do.”

  Celia shrugged, a careless gesture Sarah hoped was intended to cover her feelings.

  “I just wanted you to know.”

  “Okay. I know.”

  Sarah glanced at the bed. “Why don’t you get some sleep now?”

  “I’ll sleep in a while.”

  “Good night.” Sarah slipped from the room and padded back to hers. Everything she did had an effect on so many other people. Coming here had had an enormous effect, and leaving would have an even bigger one.

  Leda would be the one to suffer the most. William was the joy of her life—the baby she believed was her grandson and the descendent of her beloved son and husband. The sooner Sarah ended the deception, the better. Each day her love for Leda grew stronger.

  And each day her love for Nicholas took on deeper and more frightening proportions. Her inability to resist him even though he cared nothing for her was shameful. Removing herself from his presence seemed the answer to more than one dilemma.

  Once the authorities knew what to look for it shouldn’t take them long to locate Claire’s remains. Nicholas’s guests would be here a few more days, and Sarah had the obligation of caring for them.

  Perhaps in another week or two she’d have the information about Claire. By then, she’d be able to stand and walk for longer periods, and her time here would be over. Until then she’d have to keep Celia quiet

  Snuffing the light, she climbed into bed. She would be glad to get away from Nicholas, she had to tell herself. In a hundred lifetimes she’d never meet another man who at the same time angered and puzzled and excited her as he did. Of all the things that could have happened, of all the places she might have been heading, and the trains she could have been taking, she’d boarded an ill-fated one that had introduced her to Stephen and Claire and Nicholas and Leda.

  Fate had entwined their lives.

  And desperation still drove Sarah to astounding lengths.

  She prayed her resourcefulness carried her into the coming weeks, into finding a job and a place to five and a way to care for her son.

  Sarah snuggled into the covers and disciplined herself to sleep.

  The following night’s dinner was more elegant than the first, with candlelight and crystal, courses chosen to complement one another, and Claire a lovely and cordial hostess.

  After dessert, she gently invited their guests into the music room, where a string quartet and pianist performed a chamber concert for them. Even the music had been chosen with eclectic tastes in mind.

  Nicholas observed her from his position on the opposite side of the room. No one could carry off unrelieved black like Claire. This evening she’d done something different with her curly mane of hair, a cluster of long sausagelike curls hanging against her neck.

  Occasionally Ellen Gallamore on her right, or Milos on her left, spoke to her, and she’d lean in to hear the whisperer. She said something back to Milos, one of the curls brushing his shoulder, and he replied with a tilt of his head.

  Claire graced him with an amused smile.

  That faint smile played havoc with Nicholas’s senses. She’d casually invited him to attend William’s bath one morning if he wanted to see her smile, not mentioning he might observe her smiling at his friend at any given moment.

  Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t care if she grinned herself silly at Milos.

  He studied them, her the picture of grace and femininity with the sheen of the gas lamps illuminating her pale hair, Milos the only friend Nicholas had ever known. He couldn’t help but wonder at what they spoke of so easily. How did Milos know what to say to bring a smile to those lips?

&n
bsp; Her watchful gaze touched upon the guests, checked the clock, the coal fire in the grate and in passing stumbled across Nicholas’s stare.

  Against his will he wished she had a smile for him, one that spoke of intimacy or friendship or even tolerance. But then why should she? He’d been nothing but critical and accusing since she’d made his acquaintance. And as much as he’d wanted to think it, she just didn’t seem the type to wile her way into his good graces with feminine posturing.

  Her attention to this evening’s meal and entertainment showed more savoir faire than even his mother had ever displayed. Claire possessed polished sureness when it came to social manners and activities. He could find no fault in any of the preparations or her dress or comportment.

  After last night’s fiasco, he’d thought his guests would pack and leave, or at least hold themselves in reserve, but they had seemed to sympathize with Claire’s embarrassment and had dismissed the incident. She’d won them over with her gentle beauty and seemingly sincere apology.

  But he had to wonder how she had come by this innate sense of dignity and ability. It made no sense. Fortunately, the Galamores and Kleymanns and McCauls didn’t know she’d come from the back streets of New York, that her father had been a penniless factory worker, so they’d overlooked her mother. Even a family of quality had its skeletons.

  But Nicholas knew better. And he couldn’t deduce how she’d pulled it off. She never referred to him as anything other than Mr. Halliday in front of the guests. And though she was smart as a whip, she hadn’t larded conversation with references to literature or science, but instead practiced quiet reserve as a true lady would. She even handled the servants as though she’d done it all her life.

  The musicians ended their set, and Claire gently guided the guests toward the parlor for coffee and liqueur. Nicholas followed behind as she walked with her hand on Milos’s sleeve.

  Even if she’d learned it all in preparation for marrying Stephen, she’d have bungled something by now. Yet she behaved as though she’d done this dozens of times, as though she were born and bred to the life.

  And he’d been patient He’d watched and given her all the rope she needed to hang herself.

  He truly hadn’t expected this.

  He’d expected his mother to do all the work and Claire to take credit. But he knew it wasn’t so. In fact his mother had never been so rested, so relaxed, so happy.

  Grudging respect wormed its way into his attitude toward Claire. If she’d gone to such lengths to win Mother over, Nicholas could only imagine what she’d done to win Stephen.

  They’d reached the parlor, and the guests seated themselves, the drone of conversation picking up. Claire moved toward Nicholas. “Will you be serving the liqueur, or shall I ring for one of the servants?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  She nodded. The dress she wore revealed the generous swells of her ivory breasts. Another woman would have worn a priceless gem around her neck to display her wealth and draw attention to those lush features, but Claire herself was the jewel, needing no adornment. Crafty as she was, she’d no doubt used that to her advantage.

  Without another word, she slipped back among the guests.

  Nicholas poured spiced brandy and discussed the day’s business with Monty Gallamore. But his attention never left Claire. If she felt she needed to stay in his good graces, to what extent would she go to please him?

  The question sent a rippling wave of heat through him. She’d passed the test with the food and the entertainment. But what if he were to test her loyalty rather than her abilities?

  Anyone could learn tasks or fake knowledge.

  But one couldn’t pretend love and fidelity.

  If she loved and adored Stephen the way his mother believed, the way she pretended, she would not fall into another man’s arms.

  She’d already allowed him to kiss her. Did she think kissing him would secure her place?

  The thought sickened him.

  The idea intrigued him.

  The image enticed him.

  The true test of her love for Stephen. Afterward there would be no doubt.

  Nicholas couldn’t wait for his guests to leave.

  Chapter Twelve

  Somehow, between directing the servants during the day, entertaining Nicholas’s guests each evening and catering to Celia’s demands, Sarah found the time to travel into Youngstown and send messages and a retainer to the Pinkerton Agency. She instructed the telegraph office that any return messages were to be held for her and not sent with anyone from the Halliday house who might make the trip to town.

  During one of their afternoons together, Sarah and Kathryn Kleymann played with William on Sarah’s bed. Over the past few days they’d spent many pleasant hours together and Sarah had grown fond of the young woman. The sweet woman deserved the affection she shared with her husband, and Sarah prayed for their happiness.

  “Perhaps next time we visit we’ll have our little one along,” she said happily. “You can visit us in Virginia, too. The children can be playmates.”

  Sarah smiled at the wistful thought If only that were possible.

  After five full days and nights, the guests took their leave. Sarah was so bereft to see Kathryn go, she ran up to her room and cried.

  Leda followed, entering without knocking, and sat on a chair near where Sarah perched on the window seat.

  “What’s wrong, sweet girl?” she asked tenderly.

  Ashamed, Sarah dried her face and blinked into the sunlight streaming through the glass panes. “Nothing.”

  “I see. You don’t want to tell this old lady.”

  Swiftly Sarah moved to sit at her feet. “It’s not that. I just don’t want you to think me foolish.”

  She took Sarah’s hands. “I’ve never thought you foolish.”

  Sarah spared her a smile, and accepted a violet-scented hankie to wipe her nose. “It’s just that I grew so attached to Mrs. Kleymann, I hated to see her go.”

  “Why, that’s perfectly natural,” Leda assured her. “Women need other women their own age to talk with. All you’ve had for months is me.”

  And now the horrible mother confined to her rooms, Leda probably thought. “I love you,” Sarah said quickly. “Please don’t think I don’t appreciate your friendship.”

  Leda stroked her hair from her temple. Tears shone in her gray eyes. “I don’t think that. I understand loneliness, child. But you’ll see Kathryn again. We meet up with the Kleymanns at least once a year.”

  Sarah nodded, feeling no better knowing that next time the families gathered, Kathryn would learn of Sarah’s treachery.

  “I think you should nap,” Leda suggested. “I’ll wake you for dinner.”

  Sarah nodded. Leda unbuttoned her dress before leaving her alone.

  She slipped out of her shoes and the black crinoline dress and rested atop the counterpane. Within moments she slept.

  The next day Sarah took Celia her dinner tray. “I’ve heard you’re not eating well. The servants are concerned.”

  “What the hell do they care?” Obviously Celia hadn’t washed her hair or bathed for days. She sat in a chair, dressed in her worn and wrinkled wrapper. “All they have to do is leave the papers.”

  “I’m concerned, Celia.”

  Her red-rimmed eyes rose to Sarah. “Why?”

  “Because I hate to see you doing this to yourself. You bathe and get dressed tomorrow, or I’ll bring the maids in here and we’ll do it for you.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t push me, Cele.”

  She glared back, but conceded with a shrug.

  “I’ll have the water sent up in the morning.”

  She tucked her bare feet beneath her. “You do that.”

  Sarah uncovered the tray and sat with her until she’d eaten most of the dinner.

  “So, what’s that baby of yours look like?”

  The question caught Sarah off guard. “William? Well, he looks like me, I gue
ss.” She urged Celia to drink her tea. The woman’s silence prompted her to think over her words and consider her train of thought. “Would you like to see him?”

  Celia shrugged noncommittally.

  “You start bathing and dressing and I’ll bring him to see you.”

  Celia nodded as if she didn’t care, and Sarah wondered if she’d misread her.

  “Did you send the telegram?”

  “I did. I expect it’ll be a while before I hear back. I’ve asked the telegraph office not to send my messages with anyone but me, so I’ll have to keep checking. Of course if you were up and able to take trips into town, you could check.”

  “Don’t depend on me,” she said. “I’d only let you down.”

  Sarah glanced at the clock on the mantel. Her own dinner was ready. “Have you let down very many people?”

  Celia avoided her gaze. “Some.”

  “None of us like to do that,” she said. She removed the tray and wished Celia a good-night.

  Changing her clothing quickly, she carried William to the dining room and placed him in the bassinet Leda insisted be kept there for him. She’d been enjoying having no guests to entertain in the evenings.

  “I’m well pleased with the way the visit with my associates went,” Nicholas said after they’d eaten, surprising Sarah. He hadn’t mentioned anything until now. But then he’d been working late hours. “You ladies outdid yourselves with the meals.”

  “I can’t take credit for that,” Leda said. “Claire handled the menus and the kitchen servants. I took care of baths and laundry and rooms and such.”

  “Well done, Claire,” Nicholas said.

  Warmth crept through Sarah’s chest and curled itself into an unfamiliar little ball of gratification near her heart. At his expression of appreciation, her cheeks grew warm. He had no idea how much those two words meant to someone who’d never expected to hear them. She’d done her best simply because that was what she did. She’d learned long ago not to count on her best being enough.