Mrs. Burgess would be tall and slim and elegant, Wendy thought. Despite whatever illness she was suffering, she’d be dressed in some sort of flowing satin and lace thing, and she’d sweep around the room like a model.
Mack pushed the door wide. “I’ve brought someone to see you.”
Wendy blinked in surprise. She had expected a fashion plate. She saw a small woman with carefully-styled white hair, wearing a blue velvet bed-jacket and sitting in a wheelchair. Her body was twisted slightly; one shoulder was higher than the other. Her hands, long-fingered and still delicate, were folded in her lap, but Wendy could see that the joints were horribly deformed.
“Mother, this is Wendy,” Mack said.
The woman’s eyes were like Marissa’s – and like Rory’s. No wonder Mack had felt so little doubt when he saw the baby for the first time. But Mrs. Burgess’ eyes had a distant look, as if she had drawn away from the things that hurt her.
Her gaze rested on Wendy for a long moment. “I’m Elinor,” she said softly. “I’d shake hands, but I’m afraid I can’t.”
“I know,” Wendy said quickly. She patted Elinor Burgess’ wrist in a feather-light touch. The woman’s skin was like crepe, textured with soft wrinkles.
Elinor’s gaze slid to the baby in Wendy’s arms as if Rory was a magnet. “So you’ve brought Aurora back to us.”
“Can you hold her, Mother?” Mack asked.
Very carefully, Wendy set the baby onto Elinor’s lap, but she kept one hand on Rory’s shoulder, trying to keep her from squirming. She wasn’t altogether successful, and she saw flickers of pain cross Elinor’s face.
But the woman didn’t give in easily. For several minutes she simply looked at the baby, and Rory stared back at her, wide-eyed and inquisitive.
Elinor said, without looking up, “Have you dined?”
“No,” Mack said. “We didn’t want to stop and take a chance of getting caught in the storm.”
“Ring Parker and tell him to see to it immediately.”
She didn’t raise her voice, but the words were clearly an order. Wendy was a bit confused – was she talking to Mack? Then she heard a soft step in the next room, and the nurse said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Mack bent over his mother and gently kissed her cheek. “We’ll see you in the morning, then.”
Wendy automatically shifted her grip in order to pick up the baby. “Don’t,” Elinor said sharply.
Wendy drew back as if she’d been slapped. It was apparent that all authority has changed hands in the past few minutes, she thought. She obviously no longer had any power at all over Rory.
“I’m sorry,” Elinor said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I only meant that my nurse will take care of putting her to bed so you can eat in peace, and relax. You must be exhausted from the trip.”
Wendy swallowed hard and managed to say quite civilly, “Of course. That’s very thoughtful of you.”
And it was, as a matter of fact. She was tired, and hungry, and not quite up to coping with getting Rory settled for the night. It was perceptive of Elinor Burgess to have seen that. There wasn’t any reason for Wendy to feel shut out, or disgruntled, or anything but grateful. And yet when she brushed her fingers across Rory’s curls and said goodnight, she felt in her heart as if she were saying goodbye as well.
CHAPTER FIVE
They did not raid the kitchen, despite Mack’s threat. Instead, he led the way to an airy breakfast room at the back of the house, where Parker was laying two places at an octagonal table which matched the shape of the room. Mack held Wendy’s chair and seated himself next to her.
Parker lit the candles in the center of the table, poured two glasses of wine, and began dishing up soup from a tureen on the sideboard. “Mrs. Cardoza sends her apologies for giving you a makeshift meal, sir.” He set a dainty china soup plate in front of Wendy.
She inhaled the delicate bouquet of the soup – she thought she caught a whiff of lobster, and the base was cream – and remembered the peanut butter on toast she’d been eating the night Mack first came to her apartment. Obviously Mrs. Cardoza didn’t know the first thing about truly makeshift meals.
Parker served Mack’s soup. “By the way, sir, I had one of the men take the car around to the garage.”
“Thanks. I’d forgotten all about it. Perhaps tomorrow they can wash it.” Mack shook out his napkin and picked up his spoon. “Until I see what it looks like in daylight, I won’t know if I want to keep it.”
Wendy thought she saw a flicker of confusion pass over Parker’s face. But surely that was her imagination; by now, he must know Mack too well to be startled by anything the man might do. She’d already learned that much, herself – and she’d known him for only a few days.
Even Parker’s quiet comings and goings as he served and cleared didn’t really disturb the tranquil atmosphere in the room. Wendy was too hungry for much conversation, so the butler’s presence didn’t bother her at all.
The soup was followed by a green salad, topped with a tart honey and vinegar dressing and accompanied by warm whole-wheat rolls. Parker whisked her empty plate away, and Wendy was just about to declare herself satiated when he brought in a covered tray and asked, “A slice of filet, Miss?”
Before she could even answer, he expertly carved several slices of beef and arranged them in the shape of a fan on a china plate. He added a spoonful of bright, barely-tender vegetables and used a towel to set the plate before her. “It’s very hot, Miss,” he warned, and turned back to create a duplicate for Mack.
“When you said we’d raid the kitchen, I thought you meant leftovers,” Wendy said under her breath. “A sandwich, or something.”
Mack smiled. “Mrs. Cardoza loves me. I’m such an appreciative eater, you see.”
Parker took one last look around the table, gathered up his tools, and withdrew from the room. Mack reached for the wine bottle at his elbow and refilled Wendy’s glass.
She nibbled at a bite of filet. It was perfectly done to suit her tastes – nicely browned on the edges, hot but still very pink and juicy in the center. It was the best she’d eaten in a long time.
The silence between them was not an oppressive one, but it wasn’t peaceful either. With the butler gone, the air seemed to hold an electrical charge.
Wendy shaped and discarded several comments. “What’s wrong with your mother, Mack?” she asked finally.
“She has rheumatoid arthritis.”
“Oh. That’s the really nasty stuff.”
“It can be. She has good times and bad, and right now she’s having a bad flare-up. Stress is very hard on an RA patient, and since Marissa’s death she hasn’t been well at all.”
Wendy speared a baby carrot and ate it daintily. “That’s why you wanted to break the news before you brought Rory.”
Mack nodded.
“Will she get better?”
“I hope so. She always has before.”
“Enough better to take care of a baby?”
“She was diagnosed not long after Marissa was born, and she managed. There were nurses then, too, of course.”
“I wonder if that’s what Marissa meant by being ruined,” Wendy mused. “Having nurses instead of her mother.”
Mack’s voice was crisp. “Marissa could be a melodramatic idiot.”
“But she was raised by nurses?”
“I suppose so, yes.”
Wendy put her fork down and said, almost gently, “And your mother’s worse now, isn’t she? You know she can’t really participate in taking care of a baby, don’t you, Mack? If just holding Rory on her lap causes her pain–”
He shrugged. “She’ll work something out.”
“Nurses? Nannies? Is that what you want for Rory? Your mother can’t cuddle her, and your father is mildly interested but certainly no father figure.”
The breakfast room door opened, and a cheerful voice said, “So you made it after all!” A young man bounded in and slapped Mack on the shoulder.
&nb
sp; Obviously one of his brothers, Wendy concluded. This man was not as tall as Mack, and he was perhaps ten years younger – or maybe his appearance of extreme youth came from his easy-going, open expression. There was nothing about him which hinted of Mack’s settled, mature air.
That made Mack sound stodgy, she thought, which he wasn’t. He was reliable, that was the word. Maybe that notion she’d had as they went up to meet Elinor hadn’t been such an odd one after all. A woman could safely lean on Mack.
If she needed anyone to lean on, which of course Wendy didn’t.
“All I can say is, it must have been a fancy piece of driving.” The young man held a hand out to Wendy. “Hi. I’m Mitchell.”
Wendy shook it politely before she turned to glare at Mack. “You told me there was nothing to it, and it was perfectly safe.”
Mack shrugged. “It’s not my fault Mitch is an amateur. I tried to teach him to drive.”
Mitch turned to the sideboard to investigate the remains of their dinner. Apparently deciding it was worthy of attention, he dug a plate from the china cabinet and carved himself a healthy serving of filet. He pulled out the chair across from Wendy’s, sat down, and started to eat, regarding her all the while with an air of frank interest.
Mack glanced at the plate and said, “Didn’t you have dinner?”
“Only once. And it was trout tonight – not nearly as appealing as this. Why does Mrs. Cardoza always act as if you’re special?”
“Because I am a discriminating eater, and I appreciate her finer efforts. You’ll consume anything.”
The insult bounced off Mitch. He turned back to Wendy. “How do you like Chicago so far?”
She settled for the diplomatic answer. “I’ve hardly seen any of the city. Just snow.”
“Nasty, isn’t it? You picked the worst time of the year to come and visit. I’m moving to Hawaii when I graduate. I’d be there already if Mack didn’t think I’d spend all my time surfing instead of studying. Mack, I need to talk to you about my statistics class.”
“Not just now, Mitch. How about dessert, Wendy?”
Parker appeared as if by magic. Wendy couldn’t figure out if he was telepathic or if Mack had used some unseen means to summon him.
She shook her head. “I couldn’t eat another bite. I’ll leave you to your discussion and get some sleep, if you don’t mind.”
Mitch jumped up to hold her chair. “It’s not that I want to get rid of you exactly,” he confided, “but this is sort of important, so thanks for understanding. You know, Mack, it isn’t very often you find a woman who takes a hint and doesn’t resent it. Maybe you’d better consider—”
Mack interrupted ruthlessly. “Just what was it you wanted to tell me, Mitch?”
Parker bowed slightly. “If you’ll come this way, Miss, I’ll have Mrs. Parker show you to your room.”
Wendy glanced back as she left the breakfast room. The men had already seated themselves again, and Mitch was deep in explanation, illustrating his point by rearranging flatware on the table.
Mrs. Parker was short and round and dressed in black. Obviously the housekeeper, Wendy concluded, and speculated on how many other people were employed around this house. She wondered if Mack would see the humor if she suggested the Burgesses ought to publish a guidebook, like all the best hotels did, to let guests know what services were available and who to ask for assistance.
At the top of the stairs, Wendy paused. “Which way is the nursery?”
Mrs. Parker pointed. “In that wing, miss, with the rooms Mrs. Burgess’ nurses use.”
Wendy bit her lip.
“I don’t think you need to worry about the little one tonight,” the housekeeper said comfortably. “She’s already asleep, I understand. And she’ll have the best of care.”
“I suppose you’re right.” And I’d better get used to letting go of her, Wendy reminded herself. If she didn’t, it would only make things harder on both of them in the long run.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable here.” The housekeeper opened an arched door and snapped on the lights inside a large sitting room. Two overstuffed chintz chairs and a small loveseat were grouped on an old Oriental rug by the fireplace, and a bench which ran the entire length of three big windows made a perfect place to curl up and look out over the fountain and courtyard in the front of the house.
“The bedroom and bath are through there,” Mrs. Parker said, pointing to a door at the far end of the room. “Mr. Mack said you’ve been stranded without your luggage?”
The question made Wendy want to swear. All this elegance, and she didn’t have a clean stitch to wear. “Unfortunately, that’s correct.”
“I took the liberty of laying out a few things for you to use tonight. I hope you’ll find them acceptable. And if you’d like to ring when you’ve finished undressing, I’ll send a maid up for your things so they’ll be fresh in the morning.” She waved a hand at the bell beside the fireplace.
Almost automatically, Wendy said, “That’s far too much trouble...” Then she broke off. She hated being a nuisance, but she was hardly in a position to refuse.
Mrs. Parker was smiling – not a supercilious smile, but a genuinely friendly one. “Just ring when you’re ready.”
“It’s lovely of you,” Wendy admitted. “A life-saver, in fact.”
The housekeeper paused at the door. “You’ll find that all of the staff will be happy to do anything we can for Mr. Mack’s friend,” she said quietly.
Had there been just the barest hesitation before that last word? Of course there was, Wendy thought. The staff wasn’t certain exactly what her position was, or why she was here. But whether the Burgesses considered her a heroine for returning Marissa’s baby to the bosom of her family, or simply a glorified nursemaid, the members of their staff were too professional to hazard an opinion.
She yawned as she wandered through the rest of the suite. Mrs. Parker was as good as her word; everything Wendy might need was waiting for her. The satin comforter on the enormous canopy bed was already turned down, and spread across the fragrant linen sheets was a cream-colored cotton nightgown. The fabric was crisp and new, but the style was old-fashioned, with a multitude of tiny tucks and pleats down the front and fancy stitching around the collar and cuffs. Beside the bed stood a pair of soft slippers, and hanging on the back of the bathroom door was an oversized white terry bathrobe.
And while she was in the shower, luxuriating in the strong hot spray, her clothes vanished as quietly as if little mice had stolen them away.
She tucked herself into the big bed and hugged her pillow and wished that Rory wasn’t down the hall and around the corner but right here, in her crib – just in case the baby needed anything.
*****
She dreamed that she heard Rory crying for her, but no matter how hard she searched there were more rooms to inspect, more hallways unrolling before her, more wings sprouting from the main part of the house, and she never managed to find the child. Finally the dream faded and she sank into exhausted sleep, to wake with a jolt to light pouring in through the long windows.
Rory should have been awake by now, she thought, and was instantly terrified. Why hadn’t the baby cried this morning? Something must be terribly wrong.
She sat bolt upright, and only then did she remember the Burgess house and the canopy bed and the nursery down the hall and around the corner.
Indeed, something was wrong, she told herself. Unfortunately, it was nothing she could fix.
She heard a rustle from the adjoining sitting room, and a moment later a maid in a dark green uniform with white apron and cap came in with a tray. She stopped in the doorway when she caught sight of Wendy sitting up in bed. “I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to disturb you. Mrs. Parker thought you might like coffee or tea when you woke.” She set the tray down on the bedside table.
There were two thermos containers on the tray, along with a thin china cup and saucer, cream pitcher and sugar bowl in the same floral patt
ern, a crystal dish of lemon slices, and a small square envelope. Wendy looked at the note with trepidation.
“If I’d known you were awake I’d have brought the pretty pots instead of these ugly things,” the maid fretted. “Shall I pour for you?”
Wendy nodded. “Coffee, please,” she said absently and reached for the envelope. Whatever it was, she might as well face it.
The paper inside was monogrammed with an elegant script, but the note itself was typed. Please forgive my informality, it said. It is sometimes difficult for me to write. Will you do me the favor of calling on me in my sitting room this morning, whenever it is convenient for you? It was signed, a bit shakily, Elinor Burgess.
Wendy sipped her coffee and read the note again. It was simple and to the point, and very difficult to interpret. It could mean that Elinor wanted to have a bosom-buddy chat, or she might tell Wendy to pack her bags immediately because there was no further need for her – or it could be anything in between. There was nothing to be done but go and see what she wanted.
And she might as well do it immediately, before her curiosity got the better of her and paranoia set in.
The maid was still standing beside the bed, obviously waiting for further instructions. “Do you know whether my clothes have been returned?” Wendy asked.
“Yes, miss. I brought them up myself earlier this morning. Shall I run a bath for you?”
“Heavens, no, I can still make a faucet function.” Wendy pushed the blanket back, and the satin spread slid off the foot of the bed and into a heap on the floor. “Darn it, I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Oh, it happens all the time. You should have seen how tangled it was last time one of Mr. Mack’s lady-friends was here.” The maid stopped and clamped her teeth on her lower lip.
Better put a stop to that right away, Wendy thought. The emphasis the woman had put on last time clearly indicated that she thought Mack’s interest in Wendy was a romantic one.
“I’m sorry, miss. I shouldn’t have mentioned the subject to you.”
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