The Betrothed (Cutter's Creek Book 7)

by Vivi Holt

  She’d only been in New York a few days, but since Harry and Camilla were out looking for work, she had decided to visit her friend. She thought that perhaps Sister Bertram might also have some idea of how Charlotte could make her way in New York — what she might do for money, now that her valuables had been stolen — and where she might find people of her own rank in the city. It was likely if she approached some of her peers, they’d help her find a way to raise enough money to rent a more appropriate apartment until her parents sent her additional funds. She’d completed the letter to her parents and had mailed it that morning, adding to it Saint Anthony’s via Sister Bertram as the address to which her parents could write and send money. She hoped they’d forgive her quickly enough to get it to her before she became homeless, else she didn’t know what she’d do.

  The building was constructed almost entirely of gray stones. She walked up the stone staircase toward the front doors, and lay her hand against the cold wall. With a deep breath, she ducked her head and stepped into the cool, darkness of the church.

  Pews lined the sanctuary, with three wide aisles leading to the front of the room. Rows of candles, some lit, some cold, adorned the sacristy before the altar. Charlotte only knew what it was because Sister Bertram had told her about it one day on board the steamship. She’d been curious about the differences between the Church of England and the Catholic church, and so had asked the nun about it one day when they were playing whist on the forward deck. This was the first time she’d ever been inside one, and she turned her head about to take it all in.

  A priest walked toward her with a smile, his hands clasped in front of his black robe.

  “My daughter, how can I help you today?”

  “Hello. I’m looking for Sister Bertram.” She returned his smile, and held out her hand to shake his.

  “Of course, follow me. Please take a seat here,” he pointed to the front pew, “I’ll fetch her directly.”

  The priest disappeared behind a curtain beside the altar, and soon returned with Sister Bertram in tow.

  “Miss Smythe! What a delight it is to see you so soon.” Charlotte stood to embrace her. Sister Bertram kissed her on the cheek, and both women sat down together on the pew.

  “I’m so happy to see you, Sister. I’m afraid New York has turned out to be somewhat more intimidating than I’d expected. Oh, I don’t really know what I expected. I’ve never spent much time in any city, to be frank. But it’s certainly very large, and busy.”

  Sister Bertram raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Why, Miss Smythe, I thought you were from London. Surely New York couldn’t be nearly as busy and bustling as London.”

  Charlotte felt her cheeks warm. “Oh yes, of course. Well, I wasn’t entirely honest with you, Sister. I’m ashamed to say it. My name is Lady Charlotte Beaufort, of Beaufort Manor. I’m not from London at all, but from Cambria where it is much quieter than this, I’m afraid.”

  The nun’s eyes grew wide. “Lady Beaufort? The one who was kidnapped?”

  “Oh, you heard about that did you? No, not kidnapped. I ran away from home, actually.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Yes. And I’m beginning to think it was all a big mistake. As soon as we landed and got through immigration, Mr. Bentley stole my valuables. Now, I’m all alone and I’ve hardly a cent left to live on.”

  Sister Bertram took Charlotte’s hands in her own. “Oh dear!”

  Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears at the nun’s sympathy. “What should I do?”

  The sister paused, and then gave her a sympathetic smile. “I suppose you’ll have to find work.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. Do you have any ideas of what I might do?”

  “I’ve only just arrived myself, so unfortunately I don’t have any contacts here yet. But I could ask around for you, if you like?”

  “That would be very helpful.” Charlotte was relieved. She patted Sister Bertram’s hands. “I knew you’d be able to help. One other thing, I’m staying in a boarding house, which is disconcerting to say the least. I was wondering if you might introduce me to some of my peers, the elite of New York society? I’m sure they’d be willing to help me find a more suitable place to live.”

  The nun smiled, and shook her head. “Of course I will see what I can do, Lady Charlotte. But I can’t promise anything. If you have a place to stay, I’d say you were luckier than some new immigrants. It’s not easy to find your way in a big city like this without money or an introduction.”

  Charlotte frowned. She hadn’t thought about that being an issue, since she’d never been without either before in her life. “Well, if you could make some inquiries, I would really appreciate it.”

  “I will.”

  She pulled a small notepad from a pocket in her skirt, along with a pencil. “If you leave me your address, I’ll be sure to let you know what I discover.”

  “Thank you, Sister Bertram. I knew I could count on you.”

  Charlotte left the church, her spirits buoyed by the visit with Sister Bertram. She knew the nun would be able to help her. She was sure it would just be a matter of time before she’d be ensconced in a modern, spacious apartment, attending parties with the who’s-who of New York. Everything was coming together nicely.

  Chapter Twenty

  Camilla sat in the rounded booth at Moseby’s Ice cream Parlor and dipped her spoon into the ice cream, licking it slowly.

  “Oh my, this tastes so good. I can’t believe I’ve never eaten ice cream before. I don’t know if I’ll ever want to eat anything else now.” She closed her eyes and grinned as she swallowed.

  Charlotte smiled and took a bite of her own ice cream, relishing the cool sweetness as it slid across her tongue and down her throat. “Mmmm … I do love ice cream. And, I’m beginning to love New York. You know, I went to a show on Broadway last night, something called Arabian Nights. It was amazing and beautiful and made me cry and laugh. Then I walked home afterward and there were bright lights lining the streets and people everywhere and just so much going on all around me. I think I could get used to living here.”

  Camilla watched her closely as she spoke and took another bite of ice cream. “You’re sure spending up a storm. I hope you brought enough jewelry with you from the old country to fund all that gallivanting you’re doing.”

  Charlotte frowned, “I sent my parents a letter when we disembarked, so I’m sure they’ll send me some money soon.”

  “Well, I hope so.”

  Harry burst through the door of Moseby’s Milkshake Bar and headed for their table. Charlotte felt her heart jump in her chest as he strode their way. His dark hair was swept back from his forehead and his brown eyes sparkled at her. He looked almost like his old self again – the pallor of sickness had left his skin and the circles beneath his eyes had faded. “I’ve got some good news,” he grinned at them and sat beside Camilla, eying her bowl.

  Charlotte felt herself wishing he’d sat in the empty space beside her, then chastised herself for being ridiculous. He could sit where he wanted. It’s not as if it should matter in the least to her. She couldn’t develop feelings for him – it wouldn’t be right. What on Earth would Father and Mother say if she allowed herself to be courted by a villager from Greyburn after turning down the Duke of Notherington? She shuddered to think of it.

  “What is this?” asked Harry, pointing at Camilla’s dish.

  “It’s called ice cream and it’s pretty much divine.”

  He plucked the spoon from her hand and dipped it into the dessert, shoving it into his mouth before she could protest. His eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened in surprise as the flavor hit his tongue. “Wow, that’s good.”

  “So what’s your news?” asked Charlotte, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

  “I got us all jobs.”

  “Really?” Camilla jumped from her seat and wrapped her arms around Harry in a spontaneous embrace before clapping her hands together in glee.

  “Yes, really.�
��

  “How? Where? What will we be doing?” She sat again and waited for his reply, retrieving her spoon from his grasp.

  “Ben knows a manager over at this slaughterhouse. He says we can all get jobs there startin’ Monday. I’m not sure exactly what we’ll be doin’ – probably cuttin’ meat, sortin’ and packin’ it. Things like that. It’s close by the boardin’ house, in the Meatpackin’ District.”

  Charlotte frowned and her nose wrinkled as he spoke. “A slaughterhouse? I think I’ll pass on that wonderful opportunity, thank you, Harry. Sister Bertram is looking at more appropriate opportunities for me — I’m just waiting to hear from her.”

  Harry’s face clouded over. “It’s a job, Lady Charlotte. I thought you needed one, since you lost your silver and other valuables on the docks. You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to, but Camilla and I will be starting there on Monday.”

  “Oh, I’m sure my parents will be sending me additional funds before too long. I’ve let them know where I am and about my situation. They’ll take care of it. No need for me to pack meat, thank heavens.” She frowned again at the thought of it and emptied her bowl, scraping the last trickles of ice cream from the sides of the glass dish.

  Harry looked at Camilla and rolled his eyes. He chuckled and stood to his feet. “Well, I’m off. Ben and I are going to check out some of the local night life tonight, see what’s goin’ on.”

  Camilla looked troubled. “Don’t go gettin’ into anythin’ you’ll regret, Harry. We’re leavin’ the past behind us, just you remember that.”

  “Of course I won’t get into trouble. We’re not going to be doin’ anythin’ you wouldn’t approve of, sis – just taking a look around, that’s all.”

  Camilla nodded, but the expression on her face made it clear she wasn’t satisfied with his answer. She looked disturbed at the thought of Harry going out on the town with Ben, and Charlotte wondered why. In her friendship with the two men so far she’d never seen anything that should cause Camilla such concern. She smiled at Camilla and tapped her spoon on the glass dish. “Another ice cream?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Charlotte wasn’t pleased with the looks that had been exchanged between Harry and Camilla when she’d turned down Harry’s offer of a job at the slaughterhouse. But surely with her education and skills, she’d be able to find something a bit more palatable for a lady. And anyway, she was expecting the money from Mother and Father any day now …

  She wondered why she hadn’t heard anything yet from Sister Bertram. Perhaps she should drop back by Saint Anthony’s tomorrow and see if the nun had found any more palatable work for her to do. She wandered down the street toward home on her own. Camilla had gone to the grocer’s to pick something up for supper, and she wanted to take a look at a parasol she’d seen in one of the shop windows she’d passed by earlier. When she reached the dress shop she hurried inside, breathing in the scent of fabrics and perfumes mingled with the soaps and powders that were on display by the counter.

  “Can I help you, Miss?” asked a woman with long, dark hair and deep green eyes.

  “Yes, please – may I look at the parasol in the window?”

  Charlotte waited patiently, tapping the tips of her fingernails against the surface of the counter while the woman fetched the parasol. It was beautiful – cream with dainty blue flowers and lace edging. She sighed and ran her hand over the fabric. “It’s lovely.”

  “It brings out your eyes perfectly,” crooned the woman.

  “I’ll take it,” Charlotte smiled and set it on the counter. She reached for her reticule and opened it with a flick of her fingers. Her eyes grew wide as she counted the money inside. There wasn’t enough. How could that be? She’d hocked the last of her jewelry only a week ago – it should have lasted longer than this. Had she been robbed?

  “Oh dear,” she said, snapping it shut and facing the woman, her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I’m afraid I don’t have enough money with me. I’ll have to come back for it.”

  The woman’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, that is a shame. I’ll put it back in the window and you just come back whenever you like.”

  “Thank you,” said Charlotte, her fingernails tapping again. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be hiring, would you?” The idea of working in a place like this was appealing, with its soft lighting, pleasant scents and beautiful clothing. Looking through her purse had caused Charlotte to finally realize just how much she needed to find a job. She turned to face the woman with her most charming smile.

  It was met with a shake of the head. “I’m afraid not – we have a full staff. But you could try down the street at Facey’s Haberdashery. They were hiring there recently, I do believe.”

  Charlotte felt keenly disappointed. She’d just had a pleasant image in her head of working here, dresses thrown across her arm, laughing and chatting with the ladies who shopped there. It could have been such fun. And she’d imagined seeing the look on Harry’s face when she told him how she’d found a job without his help – one that didn’t involve packing smelly meat into containers. “Well, thank you. I will ask at Facey’s.”

  She left the store, pausing on the street to look up and down its length. The street was lined with storefronts: delicatessens, grocers, cafés, shoemakers, a mercantile and much more. Throngs of people bustled by with packages tucked beneath their arms, looking tired and busy. She nodded to herself. With all of these businesses in one place, surely she’d be able to find a job on this very street.

  She strode to the closest doorway and pushed it open to walk inside, her face bright and her heart full of hope. She’d find a job before the day was over, and she’d have a lovely supper at Moseby’s to celebrate.

  ***

  Charlotte nudged open the door to her room and stepped inside. She slumped down on the bed, threw her reticule on the floor and covered her face with both hands. She’d asked at every single business up and down the entire street and no one was hiring. They were all polite as they turned her away, but there were no jobs to be had anywhere. She sighed and rubbed her face, her hands moving down to find the pendant beneath her bodice once again. She’d taken to wearing it daily now, afraid that someone would find it and steal it otherwise. It was the once piece of jewelry she had left, and she’d never part with it — not for a parasol, not even for food. Her stomach growled and she remembered the supper she’d planned to eat at Moseby’s.

  “Well, I’ll just have to eat here tonight,” she grumbled aloud. She stood to her feet and shuffled to the kitchen. She poked around the kitchen table and found a stale piece of bread and a small pot of strawberry jam. She frowned. At least she knew how to light a fire now and there was plenty of firewood stacked beside the stove. She built a fire and lit it with a flint. It leaped to life, and before long the pleasant aroma of burning kindling filled the room.

  She sat on a rocking chair before the fire, her legs tucked beneath her and a blanket draped over her lap. She covered the blanket with a napkin and ate the stale bread with jam. It wasn’t the kind of supper she’d been hoping for, but it would have to do for tonight. Maybe she’d find a job tomorrow and things would start to look up.

  She wondered why she hadn’t heard from her parents yet. Maybe they hadn’t received her letter. She wished she hadn’t squandered her money so quickly – she could have eaten something other than stale bread for supper. How did it get to this? She brushed the crumbs from her lap and stared into the snapping fire. Nothing was working out the way she’d imagined it would. Back home, when she’d run away, she thought that striking out on her own would be an exciting adventure. She fully believed that she’d be up to any challenge that came her way.

  Why was it that she felt so out of her depth? So alone, so lost? She had no idea what to do now that she was out of money and had eaten the last of her food. Her rent was paid up until the end of the month, but she had to eat. No one seemed willing to employ her, since she had no skills or experience. It really w
as beginning to seem quite hopeless. She missed home, Mother, Father, Mary, Amber — she missed croissants, hot chocolate, roast chicken with gravy, beef wellington, pies… her stomach rumbled again.

  A knock on the door startled her out of her reverie. She hurried to the door and opened it, her blanket still draped around her legs. “Camilla? How nice to see you.”

  “Lady Charlotte, I was just checking you made it back. Also, since Harry and Ben are eating out tonight, I was wondering if you’d like to join me for supper? I made chicken soup and fresh bread if you’re interested.”

  Charlotte felt a lump form in her throat. “I’d love to. Thank you, Camilla. And please, call me Charlotte.”

  “Okay, Charlotte it is. And you can call me Cammie. Everyone else does.”

  Charlotte banked the fire in the stove and followed Camilla across the hall, pulling the door closed behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Harry stared hard at the hand of cards in front of him. His face impassive, he glanced at the men seated around the table. Ben sat directly across from him, his cheeks flushed and his hair standing on end from him running his fingers through it repeatedly. He did it every time he had a bad hand, and Harry could tell he had one now.

  On his left, Albert Facey, owner of the haberdashery on their street, sat hunched in his chair. His bald head sparkled with beaded sweat and his brows were furrowed in concentration. Harry could tell he had Albert beaten as well. Albert pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket and mopped his brow dry with it.

  Harry’s eyes traveled to his right. Max Kemper, a short bull of a man, sat with his elbows on the table and his eyes narrowed as he regarded his opponents. He caught Harry’s eye and a smug grin drifted briefly across his reddened face. “Well then, Harry me boy. It’s time – time for me to take your money.” Max chuckled and laid down his hand of cards, fanned out on the table in front of him. He had three aces and a jack.