by Nancy Moser
“You’re fearless.”
“Foolish.”
“Guileless.”
He seemed to like that word.
The regatta played out before them, the tall ships and smaller sailing vessels cutting through the water of the bay with the ease of paint from an artist’s brush. The sails captured the wind’s magic, and Rowena was brought back to happy times aboard her family’s yacht, and even happier times on their small sailboat, where she and Hugh would bob and dance with the waves and wind. She’d taught Hugh how to sail, but now . . . only he enjoyed the privilege.
Rowena lifted her veiled face to the wind and closed her eyes. “Oh, to sail again . . .”
“So you like to sail?” Edward asked.
She regretted showing her interest. “I used to.”
“No more?”
“No more.” Please don’t ask me. . . .
“What happened?”
And there it was. The opportunity or the curse of explaining her infirmity.
Rowena glanced at the other couples, who were thoroughly enmeshed in their own gaiety. She could tell Edward. If they were ever to be married, she should tell Edward.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said.
Which, of course, gave her the courage to do just that. “I loved to sail. Our family spent hours on our boat.”
“But . . . ?”
“I hurt my leg and everything changed.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. Now, even if I felt inclined, I wouldn’t be able to keep my footing and balance. That experience, the exhilaration of having the wind caress my face, the sound of the sails popping taut, and the smell of the ocean spray . . .” It made her sad to think of it. “So be it. Life goes on.”
“I don’t like the sea.”
“What?” The fervor of her exclamation surprised her. “How can you not?”
His shrug was like a slap and his attitude far more hurtful than anything the other couples might have said behind closed hands. How could he shrug about the sea? What was there not to like? Suddenly, her pleasure at being able to share her love of sailing seemed tainted.
It was not aided by his next words.
“Perhaps your inability to sail will be a good thing, since I don’t like to sail.”
She found herself gawking at him. He looked at her, at first confused, then said, “That didn’t come out as I meant it to.”
Indeed. She turned her attention to the regatta, to those lucky people who were doing what she could never do again: ride the wind.
The Langdon home was set on the crest of a vast lawn and was reached by a drive through stone and wrought-iron gates. Lucy had never seen such an expanse of space belonging to one residence. In the city, buildings were close together and green space was sparse—except for Central Park, of course.
As it was dusk, the house seemed to glow with light. Its silhouette against the darkening sky revealed a myriad of turrets and rooftops.
Lucy must have made an audible sound, for Haverty chuckled. “Quite the cottage, eh?”
“Quite.”
Haverty bypassed the front entrance and steered the horses around to the side, near the back. “Here we are.”
Lucy was disappointed not to enter the house from the front. Surely this was a servants’ entrance. She knew she wasn’t society, but the Langdons had paid for a first-class ticket on the train and steamer. To be so blatantly put in her place upon arrival was distressing.
Haverty helped her to the ground and took her satchels down a few steps into the basement.
A girl in a maid’s uniform looked up from her sweeping. “Watch your feet, Haverty. I don’t need no dirt on my clean floor.”
“Are you saying I’m dirty?”
“Don’t I know it,” she said. She looked at Lucy. “Who are you?”
“I’m Lucy Scarpelli. I’m a seamstress. I was sent for in order to mend Miss Langdon’s wardrobe.”
“Well la-di-da, aren’t you the fancy one, being sent for and all that.”
“Enough grousing, Fanny. You’re just mad because it ain’t you. Where’s Mrs. Donnelly?”
“I saw her in the pantry, going over the order with Cook.”
“Come on, then,” Haverty said to Lucy.
Lucy knew she should have said something nice to Fanny like “Nice to meet you,” but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Hopefully Fanny’s attitude wasn’t universal throughout the house.
After a few twists and turns, they reached a huge kitchen that was as large as the Scarpelli apartment in New York—times ten. Two women were kneading bread. Both eyed Lucy suspiciously.
Haverty walked past them to a room replete with floor-to-ceiling shelves, stocked with all manner of food and baking supplies. A stout woman wearing a mobcap was counting boxes. A very slim woman wearing a striped blouse and plain skirt carried a clipboard and was marking off a list. Both stopped their work.
“Yes, Haverty?” the thin woman asked.
“This here’s Lucy Scarpelli, fetched from the dock.” He looked to Lucy. “This is Mrs. Donnelly, the housekeeper. She’s in charge.”
“Nice to—”
Mrs. Donnelly handed the clipboard to the cook and shooed Haverty and Lucy out of the narrow room. “Well, now. I trust your trip was satisfactory?”
“Very much so,” Lucy said. “It was very nice to be treated—”
Mrs. Donnelly shook her head. “I heard through the grapevine they bought you first-class fares. Unprecedented, that’s what it is. Apparently, you have Miss Langdon to thank for it.”
“I will thank her, then,” Lucy said. She’d already grown tired of defending her mode of travel. Could she help what class of ticket was purchased for her?
The housekeeper’s right eyebrow rose. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to settle in.”
“That would be nice.”
Mrs. Donnelly spoke to Haverty. “Up on three, the west corner.”
“Addy’s old room?”
The housekeeper flashed him a look. To Lucy she said, “You’re off the hook tonight, but I’ll inform the Langdons you’ve arrived. I’m sure they’ll send for you first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
“I suppose you’re hungry too.”
Starving. “I could eat something.”
“I’ll have Sadie bring you a tray. Now go. The rest of us have work to do.”
Whispers followed Lucy and Haverty out of the kitchen, as the bread makers exchanged opinions about this newcomer.
So be it. Let them talk. She wasn’t here for them. She was here for Rowena.
Lucy put the last of her clothes in the dresser and shut the drawer. There was a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
It was a maid, carrying a tray. “I’m Sadie. I hope you likes potato soup.”
“It’s a favorite,” Lucy said.
Sadie put the tray on the narrow bed. Lucy noticed bread, jam, and some strawberries, along with a glass of milk.
“Thank you,” Lucy said.
“Well, you’re welcome, then,” Sadie said. “But don’t get used to it. This is the last time you’ll be served round here.”
“I don’t expect to be served.”
“Good. ’Cause you won’t be. You’re no better’n the rest of us, you know.”
Lucy was surprised by her tone. “I know.”
“Just ’cause Miss Langdon likes you don’t mean you can put on airs.”
“I have no intention of doing any such thing.” She hated the chip on this maid’s shoulder, because she was proof the attitude was shared. She didn’t consider herself a servant, but she certainly didn’t want to be considered an enemy by those who held that position.
Sadie eyed the hat Lucy had placed on the spindle of the chairback. “I do likes yer hat.”
“My mother made it for me.”
“Would she make one for me sometime?”
“Perhaps.”
Sadie
moved to the door, then nodded back at the chair. “You’d best find a new place for the hat, though—at least at night.”
“Why?”
“You’ll be wanting to wedge the chair under the doorknob.”
“Because . . . ?”
“Because the last girl who stayed here didn’t. Servants don’t get no locks on our doors, you know, and Master Hugh . . .” She moved into the hall. “If you want breakfast, be in the kitchen by half past six. ’Night.”
“Good night.”
Lucy sat upon the bed and practically inhaled the food as if it were her last meal. Once that was accomplished, she felt the fatigue of her trip take over. To think she’d started this day in her own apartment over the dress shop . . .
She began to undress, but as she undid the third button on her blouse, she stopped long enough to wedge the chair beneath the doorknob.
One of her father’s proverbs came back to her: Fidarsi è bene; non fidarsi è meglio.
To trust is good; not to trust is better.
At least for now.
Rowena ran into Sadie, coming down from the third floor. “Is Miss Scarpelli here?”
Sadie nodded upstairs. “Just got her settled into Addy’s room.”
Rowena had never been up to the servants’ quarters. “Which room is that?”
“The one on the west. If you needs her, I could go get her, miss.”
Rowena lifted her skirts. “No thank you.” She began the trek upward.
The third floor held a long hall and many doors, none of them marked. Rowena began knocking on the rooms that faced west. No answer. No answer.
Finally, she heard scuffling inside a room, and the door opened.
Rowena pulled Lucy into her arms. “You’re here!”
Lucy seemed a bit uneasy about the display of affection, so Rowena let her go. “How was your trip?”
“It was lovely. I’ve never traveled first class.”
Rowena doubted she’d ever traveled at all. Rowena entered the tiny room but, finding its only chair small and tenuous, remained standing. “I’ll take credit for that. Mother wanted to send you third-class tickets, but I thought that since you were interrupting your life to come to our aid, and since time is of the essence, it would be to our advantage to have you arrive as rested as possible. She still doesn’t know, because I had my brother Hugh arrange it.” Rowena paused for the pièce de résistance. “I paid for it out of my own allowance.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“But I wanted to.” She looked at the contents of the room. There was a mirrored dresser, a washstand, and the small chair. Rowena moved to the window. “I do wish you faced the sea. You would have a magnificent view of the ocean and the sunrise.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Connelly was too concerned about my view.”
“Mrs. Donnelly.”
“Donnelly.”
Rowena let the lace curtain fall into place. “I wish I weren’t going out tonight so we could talk. Did you have something to eat?”
“I did.”
Rowena was rather disturbed by how awkward it all seemed. Lucy was so quiet, almost standoffish. “Well, then,” she said. “I expect you must be tired. Have a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Miss Langdon.”
Rowena was going to correct her, but instead just offered a nod.
Sofia lay on her bed, in the bedroom she usually shared with Lucy. In the bed that was empty of Lucy.
I always wanted to have a bed to myself.
And so, toward that end, she spread her arms and legs wide, claiming the mattress as hers and hers alone.
Within moments she pulled her limbs close. Venturing beyond her space was almost frightening.
“Sofia? Are you all right?” Mamma called from the next room.
Sofia hesitated. Was she all right? She’d always wanted to be free of Lucy’s shadow. Now she wasn’t the youngest daughter; she was the only daughter.
And as such . . . shouldn’t she act more grown-up? What did that entail exactly?
Offer Mamma the bed. That’s what Lucy would do.
An inner argument began. They each had their own bed; there was no need for them to change. Mamma preferred her mattress on the floor, and—
“Sofia? Answer me. Are you all right?”
Before she could deny it, Sofia heard herself say, “I miss Lucy.”
Mamma left her mattress and joined Sofia in the bed. She held up her arm, drawing Sofia into its safety as she’d done a thousand times before.
“Shh, piccolina. It will be all right.”
Sofia would be a grown-up tomorrow.
Chapter Twelve
Lucy hesitated a moment before entering the Langdon kitchen for breakfast. She braced herself for disapproving looks and comments. She couldn’t blame them. She was the intruder—an intruder who’d been invited by the family, who’d already received special privileges.
Lucy was startled when a maid came through the door and nearly collided with her.
“Oh!”
“Pardon me,” Lucy said.
“You in or out?” the girl said.
“I’m coming in.”
The girl nodded to a door across the room. “The help eats in there. You’d better hurry before the men eat all the bacon.”
Lucy crossed through the kitchen and entered a dining room. Seated around the table were servants in uniform. All talk stopped. A silver-haired man at the head spoke. “Mrs. Donnelly, would you do the honors, please?”
“Certainly, Mr. Timbrook.” She rose from her chair. “I would like to introduce all of you to Miss Lucy Scarpelli, who arrived last night.”
“First class,” a young man said under his breath.
“Claude . . .”
Mrs. Donnelly continued. “She’s come to repair Miss Langdon’s wardrobe.”
“I have a button or two that needs sewing,” another man said.
“She can sew my buttons anytime.”
Mr. Timbrook slammed a hand upon the table. “Silence! Have you lost your manners? There will be no talk like that at my table.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Sorry, Mr. Timbrook.”
The head man pointed at a chair. “Here, Miss Scarpelli. Please take a seat and have some breakfast. The days are long and hard here, and proper sustenance is essential.”
Lucy sat in her assigned seat and the dishes of eggs, bacon, and toast were passed.
Mrs. Donnelly renewed the conversation. “Have you been a lady’s maid long, Miss Scarpelli?”
“Oh, I’m not a maid; I’m a seamstress at Madame Moreau’s Fashion Emporium. I helped create a wardrobe for Rowena and her mother. I mean, Miss Langdon.”
As soon as she finished talking, Lucy knew she’d said something wrong. The faces around the table—which had softened slightly after Mr. Timbrook’s admonition—had hardened again. Even Haverty’s face lost its friendly edge.
“Maybe you should go eat with them, then,” the cook said. “If you’re so important as all that.”
Although she’d only spoken the truth, Lucy realized she’d set herself apart—on purpose, if she was honest with herself.
“It’s because she’s used to first-class treatment,” a maid said. “She’s slumming it, eating with us.”
Mr. Timbrook chastised her. “Miss O’Reilly, that will be enough.”
“She’s the one who started it, sir, acting like she’s better’n the rest of us.”
Lucy tried again. “I didn’t—”
A young boy ran into the room and handed a note to Mr. Timbrook. All talk ceased until he read it. He carefully folded the note and slipped it under his plate. “Miss Scarpelli, you are wanted in the morning room at once.”
Sounds of derision accompanied her exit.
Let them make fun of her. She didn’t belong with them.
She didn’t belong with the Langdon family either.
So where did she belo
ng?
Once out of the kitchen Lucy realized she didn’t know where she was going. The boy who’d brought the note was running ahead of her. “Boy?”
He stopped and she caught up with him. “Will you show me the way to the morning room, please?”
He eyed her warily. “Don’tcha know?”
“I’m new here.”
“Come on, then, but you better hurry. When the family wants you, they wants you now.”
Good to know.
Rowena stood at the window in the morning room and looked out upon the lawn. Servants were busy pruning, picking weeds, and manicuring the yard, yet she barely noticed their movement. In a few minutes, Lucy would come into the room and be formally introduced to Newport. In a few minutes their friendship would truly commence.
Rowena heard a knuckle against woodwork and turned to see Lucy in the doorway. She rushed forward, extending her hands in welcome. “Lucy! Your first day in Newport begins.”
Lucy looked a bit overwhelmed but took Rowena’s hands and let Rowena kiss both of her cheeks.
The awkwardness from the night before remained. Was it the lavish setting? Or being away from her family?
“Did you sleep well?” Rowena asked.
“I did.”
Would Rowena ever get more than two words from her? She led Lucy to a settee. “As you can imagine, I’ve been extremely distressed because of the damage to my wardrobe. You are a lifesaver coming here to make things right.”
“I’m very glad to be here.”
Silence fell between them, and Rowena started to panic. This wasn’t the way she’d dreamed it would be. Not at all. What could she do to make Lucy feel welcome? What could she—
Lucy smoothed her skirt upon the cushion. “I’m ready to get to work. Have you missed any engagements because of the damage to your clothes?”
“Just one dinner. But today I’m supposed to go on a picnic with some friends.”
Lucy nodded. “The mauve seersucker?”
“A torn sleeve.”
“Then let me get to work.”
“Excellent.”
It was all so formal, as if Lucy were a servant and Rowena her mistress. Rowena had brought her here to work, yet her unspoken job was to be Rowena’s friend. But how could they transition from one to the other?
