John jolted at the underlying implication. “Emily, you can’t mean to tell me you cook for all of those unfortunates and clean that whole place by yourself.”
“Shush!” Emily cast a quick glance at the bed.
“With your limb like that?”
“Mr. Newcomb! Have you no decency?”
“Emily?” The paper-stuffed pillow rustled as Anna turned to her sister. “What does he mean?”
Emily picked up the baby gown, thrust the needle through the hem, and set it aside. Thoroughly irritated, she lifted the sodden cloth and glowered at him. He took her meaning and turned his back. He heard the small gasp she muffled and knew binding her ankle had to hurt—but she couldn’t possibly walk on it without the support of the bandage. Next came a rhythmic, whispering swish, swish, swish. The cadence matched the tick of his pocket watch. Though he couldn’t identify the sound, John figured he owed her a few moments of privacy.
The moment he heard her start to rise, he turned about and assisted her to her feet; but once she was upright, he surprised Emily by bracing her against his side.
“Mr. Newcomb!” She tried to pull away.
John tightened his hold, cinched her to himself, and murmured, “You need help balancing. Stop sounding so scandalized. I declare, you’re half frozen!”
She gritted her teeth and said in an icy undertone, “Is there anything else you’d like to be saying to upset my youngers?”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Obviously Emily hid whatever harsh realities she could from her siblings. Not that she could shield them from much. There were no more blankets in this poverty-stricken shack. Emily made sure her siblings stayed as warm as possible, even though it meant she suffered.
He looked at her, and she stared straight back at him. Vexation danced in her vivid green eyes. So did wounded pride. Those things registered, but so did something else: Emily O’Brien was nothing more than skin and bones. Her full skirt, billowing apron, and shawl might well hide the full extent of the truth; but as he held her close, she couldn’t disguise the fact that she was—quite literally—starving.
“Duncan,” he addressed the boy in a clipped, no-nonsense tone, “I’m taking your sister outside to the oak stump. We’re going to have a private talk. You’re to bring out Anna’s shawl to help keep her warmer. After you do, I want you to add more coal to the stove and heat up some milk for Emily.”
“The milk is for Anna and Duncan. They need it—I don’t.”
John scowled at Emily. He understood she didn’t want her brother and sister to realize how dire matters were. They’d already thought to save food for her, but John seriously doubted they had any notion of how frail their stalwart sister was. He’d been fooled, and he possessed a sharp eye; love and Emily’s acting ability, no doubt, blinded her siblings. He’d keep this secret for now, but he wanted Emily to know he wasn’t going to back down. “We’ll discuss this outside.”
Weakly, Anna tried to prop herself up on one arm. “You don’t have to go talk to him if you don’t want to, Em.”
“Yes, she does.” He gave no chance for dissent. John kept hold and shepherded Emily toward the door. As long as she cooperated and hobbled alongside him, he’d let her walk; but if she dared balk, he’d sweep her into his arms. The temptation to do so was strong; yet he tamed it so she could keep her siblings in the dark awhile longer about her own sad condition. John guided her straight out of the hovel and over to a log. He set her carefully to the side, fully intending to take the place next to her.
Duncan trotted in his wake. John accepted the shawl, wrapped it about Emily, then jerked his head toward the shack in a silent order for him to leave. The little lad didn’t cow easily. He braced his feet a bit farther apart and looked to his sister.
“I’m fine enough, Duncan. Go on, now. Help Anna with the babe. The wee fellow ought to be waking soon.” The moment Duncan shut the door, John sat to Emily’s windward side and pulled her close once again. Hopefully, he’d give her a bit of shelter and some of his warmth.
She wiggled. “Turn loose of me. I’ve no business sitting by your side.”
“Save your breath for something that matters.” John kept his arm about her and reached across with his free hand to tug her sister’s shawl up a little to protect her throat. He marveled at the blush the moon illuminated on her cheeks. For all of her boldness, she actually possessed a shy streak!
The swishing sound he’d heard when he turned his back suddenly made sense. A braid nearly as thick as his wrist now trailed over her shoulder, and a scarf covered her head. She’d taken that moment of privacy to tame her fiery hair properly and cover it. He’d spent the last two days thinking this modest little bit of goods was a doxy? The contrast between his wild imaginings and the mild truth forced him to realize he’d misjudged her badly.
Her stomach growled.
“When was the last time you ate?”
She didn’t meet his eyes. “I couldn’t say. I don’t own a timepiece.”
“Then how is it Anna knows you’re to be back at work in three hours?”
“Mr. Shaunessey next door has a mantel clock. We can hear the chimes.” She lifted her chin. “You’ll find we don’t lie, Mr. Newcomb, so you may as well leave off on trying to pounce on each matter as if you can capture us in something dishonest.”
Her pluck won his grudging respect. This woman had mettle and fire. Still, he couldn’t afford to smile and let her get away with this travesty. It was past time someone stopped her from trying to bilk blameless sailors, and it seemed circumstances had played out so he’d be the man who did precisely that. She wiggled ever so slightly, and the frailty of her build struck him anew. “You’re so skinny you’d slip right through a fishing net.”
“Waking me just to serve insults is hardly gentlemanly.”
He muttered under his breath.
“Your opinion is not gentlemanly either.” She tried to push away.
John held her fast. “My apologies, Miss O’Brien. I came to settle some matters, but you have a penchant for disappearing. The ridiculous hours you keep make it impossible for me to connect with you at a decent time.”
“Moaning about it doesn’t change things, John Newcomb. Now that you’ve gotten my ear, could you please be hurrying with whatever it is you need to say?”
“I want to hire Duncan.”
Shivers rattled her against his side. John wasn’t sure whether fear or cold caused them. He wrapped his other arm about her, hoping to share his warmth with her. In bringing her out here, away from her brother and sister’s hearing, he’d inadvertently opened her up to scrutiny if anyone happened to see them together. John regretfully ceased holding her in both arms and quickly dismissed the idea of opening his coat to share it with her. That would be just as ruinous.
“Nay.”
Emily’s words jarred his attention back to the matters at hand. “Nay?”
“I pledged to pay you back. Duncan’s not going to work off my debt.”
“You’re not indebted to me, Emily. The coin was—”
“Charity,” she clipped off.
“A gift,” he corrected in a coaxing tone. “And I’ll be offended if you give back another cent. We both know you didn’t spend it on yourself. Tell me why you didn’t use that last penny to buy food.”
“Your coin took care of our rent and the midwife’s fee. As for food—we had enough to get by until I’m paid tomorrow.”
“If Duncan works for me, you’ll not have to suffer any hungry days.”
She shook her head. “I won’t put Duncan out to work. He’s too young yet. Besides, Anna needs his help for herself and the babe while I’m gone. She cannot even get out of bed.”
“How old is he?”
“Not quite seven years.”
“As long as I’m being ungentlemanly, I’ll ask: How old are you and your sister?”
“You’re right.” She stiffened. “That is ungentlemanly.”
&nbs
p; “You scarcely strike me as the coy type.”
“No, according to your estimation, I’m more the scheming-and-lying type.” She paused a second, then let out a beleaguered sigh. “You’re wrong, but I won’t waste my time arguing with you. Your curiosity is costing me my sleep, but ’tis plain to see I’ll not get one wink more till you get your answers. So here you are: Anna just turned seventeen, and I’m coming up on nineteen.”
“Babes, the whole lot of you.” His hold on her altered. He cradled her more tenderly. He’d thought Anna might have been nineteen, but Emily—he’d imagined her a good eight years older. For all of her courage, she was far too young to shoulder the burdens she carried.
John recalled having lost his parents when he was about her age. He’d been fortunate enough to have Grandfather there still to give him both a solid home and teach him the business. He hadn’t been forced to scramble for each meal or worry about providing for Edward.
Emily tried to hide her yawn from him. From the looks of her, she could stand to sleep the clock around one full time, if not twice. Feeling pity for her, he asked softly, “What are you doing, living on your own?”
“Master Reilly found it cheaper to send many of us off rather than keep us. Food being scarce and no more in sight, he made his choices and stuck us on a ship.”
“He couldn’t separate parents and children!”
“And why not? He needed the men to till his soil. We’d been sore hungry, and Da borrowed money for food. Master Reilly called in the debt and kept my parents instead of paying for their passage. Two years we’ve been here.”
“Had you no family along?”
Her eyes closed in grief. “On the ship my sister Maureen died of the measles.”
“Poor lass,” he murmured. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She paused a moment, drew in a deep breath, then tilted her face up to his. “‘Twas soon after we arrived, and Mr. Wilkens was kind to give Anna and me our jobs. Say what you will, but that good turn kept us going.”
“He took advantage of your situation, Emily. He knew you were desperate, so he’s overworked you.”
“It was better than my only other choice.” She looked away. “No one else would help. I took the only way available to help my family.”
“So, speaking of help, who gave you the ring?” he asked even more softly.
Emily turned toward him and glared. “Your brother put it on Anna’s finger. I can see you don’t believe me, and that’s that.” She pushed so hard, she tumbled from the log. Heated by her temper, she scrambled upright and slapped away the hand he offered to assist her. “It’s a cruel man you are, John Newcomb. You find pleasure in insulting an ailing new mother, want to press a wee lad into labor, and drag a woman from her sleep just so you can dredge up her sadness until you can make her vulnerable. You’ve done your worst, but I’ll take no more.”
“Emily—”
“Back at the docks, you were willing to use your power to assure Anna’s husband did right by her; but once you found out that man was your own brother, your resolve blew off like a scarf in a gale. You’re a hypocrite, John Newcomb.”
She held both shawls about her like a shield. “We may be poor and hungry, but we’ve never once stooped to dishonesty or hurt another soul. You look at us and see poverty—but you are the poorest man I ever met because your heart is empty. Don’t come back here. You and your brother have done all the harm two men could e’er do.”
She limped past him, and John stood aside. Her dignity and temper were a sight to behold. Two more hobbling steps, and she stumbled. He caught her arm and braced her before she hit the ground, but she didn’t quite manage to stifle a whimper.
“Emily—”
With dignity worthy of a queen, she drew away and squared her shoulders. “Miss O’Brien to you.” Pain drew her features taut, and tears glistened in her eyes; but she refused to let them fall. She took another step toward the house, then faltered.
He scooped her up and carried her back inside. “Until Edward returns, I’m assuming responsibility.” He kicked the door shut and scowled at her. “God have mercy on your soul if I find this is all an elaborate contrivance.”
Chapter 5
Emily couldn’t find a speck of fault with how he treated Anna. After Emily and Duncan packed everything, John Newcomb placed the bundles in a shiny conveyance he’d summoned. He came back in and spoke softly to Anna, then went back outside and waited patiently for Emily to tend to any private care her sister might need. When she sent Duncan to fetch him, John returned, gave Anna a tender smile, and promised, “Soon you’ll be warm and comfortable.” With surprising gentleness, he gathered the bedding and wrapped it about Anna.
He’s being so good to her, Emily mused. In all the times Edward had come here, for all his smooth ways, he had never seemed so genuinely caring and tender. ’tis a crying shame ’Twasn’t John Newcomb who wed her. He’d make any woman a fine husband.
John lifted Anna and carried her out to the carriage.
“Our Em, don’t forget the jar,” Anna whispered.
“Jar?”
Anna smiled up at him. “You’re family. You can know. We’ve saved a wee bit to help bring Da and Mama over on the ship. Em keeps it in a jar under a floorboard.”
Emily felt the accusation in his dark eyes. She turned away, and just as Duncan started to open his mouth, she pressed a finger to her lips. Duncan obeyed her silent command. She sighed with relief. She’d succeeded in silencing her brother before he told Anna the jar no longer held a single cent.
Even so, Emily couldn’t face John. She murmured, “We’ve not left a thing behind,” then crawled into the luxurious state carriage.
John simply gave the driver a few words of instruction and got into the conveyance. He did so with great care so neither Anna’s head nor feet were bumped in the least. He slipped onto the wide, padded leather seat opposite Emily and Duncan and arranged Anna on his lap. Clearly she was too weak to sit up. He thrust a lush fur robe at Duncan. “Spread that across your laps.” John then took another and gently tucked it about Anna. Her head lolled onto his shoulder, and she offered an embarrassed apology.
“Shh.” The sibilant sound seemed strange coming from him. He didn’t seem the type to give succor or compassion. Yet there he sat, plain as day, cradling Anna almost exactly like the stained glass window over at the church that showed Christ holding a child. Aye, and there was the reality—he might well have made a wondrous husband, but that wasn’t the flavor of his actions in the least. He treated Anna with the gentle affection an uncle might bestow upon a favorite niece. Emily looked at him and hoped he’d see the gratitude in her eyes.
Their gazes caught and held. Suddenly feeling as if he were trying to see straight into her soul, she looked down at her tiny nephew and cradled him still closer to her bosom. Her hand shook a bit as she carefully tamed his fine, downy brown hair into a less wild arrangement. At her feet lay all she and her siblings owned. Against Mr. Newcomb’s voluble protests, she’d taken their meager possessions and knotted them in Anna’s emptied pillow slip and Duncan’s blanket.
Her brother sat beside her and clutched the precious bag holding the Bible and Anna’s ring. Wide-eyed, he stared out the window at the sights passing by him so quickly and crowed his interest as the city came to life for the day.
John Newcomb chuckled at something Duncan said. Emily gave him a wobbly smile, then cast a worried look out the window. “Soon as I get them settled, I’ll need you to give me directions. I’ve gotten turned about a bit.”
“Directions?”
“To the asylum.”
“We’ll discuss it later.”
Dread snaked through her. Emily opened her mouth, then closed it as she sought the right words. After a moment’s consideration, she said, “Those people are counting on me, and so is my family.”
“Wilkens can find some other slave to do his bidding.”
“Mr. Newcomb, the patie
nts there need to eat!”
He made a sound of unadulterated disgust. “So did you. That miser earns a hefty sum each month to warehouse all of those unfortunates—the least he could do is hire sufficient staff and pay them decently.”
“Oh, Em got a whole dollar a week!”
John’s eyes narrowed at Duncan’s disclosure. “Emily, you’re not setting foot in that place again. I dispatched a message to him, and he knows you’ll not be returning.”
She moaned. “Oh, how could you do that?”
“I have four maids, and my home is a quarter of the size of that sprawling madhouse. The newest of my maids earns three times what you were paid to do cleaning that whole place on your own—and they have decent meals and warm quarters within the house.”
Emily flinched at his words. She hadn’t been properly trained to be a housemaid. When she’d come over on the boat, she hadn’t even owned leather shoes. The pair she now wore were castoffs from a lunatic. Indeed, every last stitch she and her sister possessed had been left by patients who died or went elsewhere.
The carriage went over a bump, and the pots rattled. She screwed up her courage. “As for cooking—”
“I’ll be sure food is sent to you.”
“Mr. Newcomb—” Emily tried to modulate her voice. “We cannot rely on your kindness. I’m wanting to ask if your own kitchen might be needing—”
“No.”
“Laundry—”
“No,” he snapped.
“I see.” He doesn’t want Irish beggars working for him. “I do hope there’s some way I can—”
“You can stop formulating a stratagem this very minute.” He looked meaningfully at the way Anna lay limply in his arms, then locked gazes with Emily again. “Your sister needs you. Until such time as she and the babe are hale, you’re not to leave her side.”
“Sir, I can take care of my sister,” Duncan declared.
“Aye, and so I can see you’ve done your very best.” His features altered into a kindly visage, and his voice slid into a frank, confiding tone. “But I have a whole pack of dogs that need caring for and a favorite mare that needs special currying. You’ll be busy enough already.”
Brides of Virginia Page 4
