“Are you calling it quits?” Alissa asked.
“Don’t put this on me,” said Brad, still gazing at the darkening road. “You’ve wanted out for a long time. Why else do you think you got so worked up about that old house?”
As their conversation continued, reaching its unavoidable conclusion, they both remained calm and detached. Later, thinking back on that drive, Alissa was amazed by how effortlessly her future with Brad slipped away.
“I’ll come by after work tomorrow to pick up my things,” Brad said as he pulled the car up in front of her building. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Sure,” said Alissa. There was nothing left to say, so she got out, closed the door and walked inside without looking back.
Once inside, she walked around the condo, looking for evidence of Brad that would have to be cleared out. Considering how long they had dated, he hadn’t left much of a mark. A few framed pictures on a bookshelf. His college sweatshirt lying over the arm of the couch. The extra toothbrush she had bought for him, lying next to hers on the side of her bathroom sink. Erasing him from her life would only take a few minutes. It wasn’t supposed to be so easy, was it?
Logically, Alissa knew they had done the right thing. But she couldn’t relax, couldn’t concentrate. The stark, gleaming metals and thickly varnished wood surrounding her felt cold and unwelcoming. She had been inspired by contemporary design when she’d decorated her home, determined to make it feel clean and modern. But after touring the Brewster house, the space felt soulless.
Alissa flashed back to the day she started at design school. How she had rushed home that night to call her parents, giddily describing the projects she would be working on that semester. She had tried to recapture that joy many times in the following years, etching that love of her work into her brain so it wouldn’t be forgotten among the day-to-day frustrations of Maureen’s disapproval. But now, thinking about the Brewster house, Alissa felt a flash of excitement that echoed that first day of class. She let the feeling wash over her. I’ll buy it, she decided, and I will be happy there.
CHAPTER TWO
1904
EVELYN O’KEEFE’S wedding day passed in a blur. For years afterward, only one image remained clear: the sight of Will Brewster pulling up in front of the church in his lurching, dirt-spattered motorcar, exuding such vitality that everyone else seemed to fade into the background. Evelyn had never believed in love at first sight. The idea of losing her heart to someone she had just met—on her wedding day, no less—had always struck her as absurd. But from the moment Will arrived, she couldn’t stop watching him. He stepped easily from the car and greeted the guests mingling around him. His smile dazzled her as he pulled up his goggles and caught her eye. The attraction was instantaneous.
Until that point, the wedding and reception had progressed as smoothly as any other social event held at the Brewster estate. Alma Brewster, her new mother-in-law, had made all the arrangements. It was never suggested that Evelyn be involved in the planning. Alma knew what food was appropriate for the sit-down dinner and which flowers would be in season. Since Alma was paying for everything and hosting the reception in her home, Evelyn acquiesced immediately. It was a relief to be spared potential social disaster.
The only decision Evelyn made was the style of her wedding dress, which was sewn by her mother, Katherine. Evelyn’s earliest memories were of Katherine holding a needle, with a pincushion and scissors tucked into a white apron wrapped around her waist. Even when Evelyn’s father, Thomas, was alive and Katherine spent most days helping him at the family’s general store, she’d always had fabric and needles tucked behind the counter, waiting for a lull. When Thomas died and they were forced to sell the store to cover unexpected bills and debts, Katherine refused to despair. “We’ll get by,” she told Evelyn. “I always have my sewing.”
And so, Katherine had transformed herself from meek assistant to breadwinner, eventually becoming the dressmaker to many of Chesapeake County’s richest families. And it had all begun with a wedding. Evelyn could still remember the day Katherine had flung open the front door and shouted for her.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Evelyn asked breathlessly as she raced down the stairs, bracing herself for bad news. Though only sixteen, she had none of the naive hopefulness common among girls her age. Already, life had taught her to be wary of change.
“Lavinia Brewster’s getting married,” Katherine announced. “Mabel Goodridge and two other ladies have already asked me to make dresses for them, and I’m sure there will be more to come. If they like my work, they’ll hire me again, I just know it. Thank heavens for the Brewsters!”
The Brewsters. The richest family in Oak Hill. The ones who set the tone for everyone else to follow. If Alma Brewster, the matriarch, wore purple ostrich plumes in her hat at church, the rest of the women in town scrambled to find purple feathers for the next week. The lives of her three children were tracked and discussed as if they were royalty. William, the eldest, known as the family ne’er-do-well, had been shipped off to boarding school at a young age and was now reportedly doing his best to squander his allowance in Europe. Charles, the middle child, was the heir apparent. After graduating from Harvard University and spending a year in London, he was being groomed as the future leader of Brewster Shipping. Their younger sister, Lavinia, had been given a lavish coming-out ball in Baltimore and had dazzled her way through cotillions and debutante dances in New York and Paris.
Now Lavinia was getting married. Half the women invited to the wedding hired Katherine to make their dresses. Although it meant working well into the night for weeks, the money earned from that one event brought Evelyn one step closer to her dream of going to college.
Thanks to Lavinia Brewster’s wedding, Katherine was able to set aside enough money for Evelyn to enroll in a teacher-training program when she was eighteen. Over the next five years, she continued her studies in fits and starts, completing courses whenever she had earned enough money tutoring the spoiled children of rich Baltimore families. During visits home, Katherine would update her on the local gossip, usually dominated by news of the Brewsters: William hadn’t come home for his father’s funeral, Lavinia had given birth to a baby girl. To Evelyn, the Brewsters seemed more like legendary figures than real people. Until the day she was summoned to their mansion on the hill. The place where her life changed forever.
It was a few months after she had received her teaching degree. Evelyn was accompanying her mother to a meeting of their church’s Bible study group, which usually focused more on gossip than Gospel. She had recently received an offer to teach at a private girls’ school in Philadelphia. The salary was tempting, but Evelyn was torn at the thought of leaving her mother. As the two women walked through town, Evelyn was distracted by the decision she faced. Then a carriage clattered past and stopped suddenly just a few steps ahead of them.
“That’s Mrs. Brewster,” Katherine noted, walking quickly toward the carriage.
As they approached, an elegant older woman leaned out a side window. An enormous plumed hat only partially obscured her high forehead. She held her neck and shoulders rigid, as if to counteract the drooping skin around her chin and eyes. Her thin lips curved in a perfect half-moon of a smile, but her deep blue eyes held no trace of warmth.
“Mrs. O’Keefe,” she said.
“Mrs. Brewster.” Katherine tilted her head in submission. “Allow me to introduce my daughter, Evelyn.”
Evelyn started to bow, but quickly pulled herself upright. It was bad enough that her mother was acting like a servant.
“You’re the one attending the ladies’ college?” Mrs. Brewster asked, her soothing voice at odds with the stiffness of her posture.
“Yes,” Katherine confirmed. “Evelyn received her degree in June. She was the top-ranked student in her class.”
Mrs. Brewster stared at Evelyn intently. “Do you plan to pursue teaching?”
“Yes, I’m considering an offer in
Philadelphia.”
Mrs. Brewster nodded thoughtfully. “Lavinia’s daughter, Beatrice, has just turned six, and she’s beyond the capabilities of her nanny,” she said. “We shall have a proper English governess once she is older, of course, but for the next few years she needs someone to teach her writing and comportment and that sort of thing.” She raised her shoulders slightly in a hint of a shrug. “If you’re free Friday morning, we can discuss the position in further detail.” It was phrased as an invitation, but Alma’s tone made it clear she wasn’t used to being denied.
“Thank you so much,” Katherine gushed, filling the void of Evelyn’s silence. “She can be there at whatever time is convenient.”
“We’ll say ten o’clock sharp,” Mrs. Brewster declared. “See Hayes at the front entrance when you arrive.”
Katherine thanked her effusively, but Evelyn said nothing as Mrs. Brewster slid the carriage window shut and drove away.
Katherine grabbed Evelyn’s arm and pulled her daughter close.
“Oh, darling, how wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Imagine, a position with the Brewsters!”
“Until the real English governess arrives,” Evelyn said.
“You can’t possibly take offense at that!” Katherine scolded with a gentle slap to Evelyn’s arm. “Besides, you weren’t planning on working more than a few years, were you? After you earn some money, you’ll want to think about getting married.”
“I suppose,” said Evelyn.
“And she wants you to come to the front entrance,” Katherine gushed. “That’s a very good sign. When I started doing alterations for her, I had to use the servants’ entrance. It was years before I was welcome at the front door.”
“No matter which door I walk through, I’ll still be a servant,” Evelyn said, not bothering to hide her irritation.
“Have those professors at school been filling your head with socialist nonsense?” Katherine scoffed. “The Brewsters’ money has supported us through difficult times, as you should know. Mrs. Brewster deserves the courtesy of your consideration.”
“Yes, Mother,” Evelyn said.
“I know she seems high-and-mighty, but that’s just her manner. Besides, if you’re Lavinia’s daughter’s governess, you’ll hardly see Mrs. Brewster. Lavinia has her own home on the estate.”
“Then why is Mrs. Brewster arranging the interviews?” Evelyn asked. To that, Katherine had no answer.
In the days before the interview, Evelyn came up with a plan. The more she thought about the position in Philadelphia, the more appealing the offer became. This could be her chance to make a mark on the world by teaching young girls to value themselves and their intelligence. She could still visit her mother every weekend. Katherine might even be convinced to move to Philadelphia with her.
But she couldn’t insult the Brewsters. The key was to make sure Alma Brewster didn’t want to hire her. She could accomplish that by being herself: independent and outspoken. She would not beg for the position, and she would not cater to Alma Brewster’s snobbishness. Mrs. Brewster would dismiss her, and that would be that.
It was only when the butler Hayes—his rotund body waddling on two thin legs like Humpty Dumpty brought to life—led Evelyn into what he called the morning room, that her self-confidence faltered. She had prepared herself to stand up to Alma Brewster. But she hadn’t expected to be faced with a roomful of people, all eying her curiously as she entered.
Mrs. Brewster immediately took charge.
“Miss O’Keefe, I appreciate your promptness,” she said. “I am often appalled by the tardiness of people your age. Please, come in. I will make the introductions.” She led Evelyn toward a pale, nervous-looking young woman clutching the hand of a small girl whose flushed face was surrounded by tangled blond ringlets.
“This is my daughter, Lavinia Preston, and my granddaughter, Beatrice.” Lavinia nodded at Evelyn, while Beatrice stared at her resentfully.
“Beatrice was attempting to hurl herself into the garden fountain a few moments ago,” Alma said. “It is precisely this willfulness we need to remedy. Isn’t that right, Lavinia?”
Lavinia nodded again, but still said nothing.
“This is Beatrice’s father, Winslow Preston,” Mrs. Brewster said, indicating a middle-aged man with a bloated stomach that strained against his waistcoat. He bent his head and shoulders quickly in a brief acknowledgment of Evelyn’s presence.
“And, of course, Charles,” Mrs. Brewster added, as if the other person in the room needed no introduction.
Charles Brewster was a favorite subject of local gossip. Nearly thirty and still a bachelor, his marriage plans were the topic of endless speculation. His wealth and status put the most prestigious possibilities within reach. But for all the discussions of his money, his social connections and his talent for business, Evelyn had never realized how handsome he was until now. He had his mother’s erect posture, but what came across as snobbish in Mrs. Brewster made him appear dignified. His dark brown hair was combed carefully back from his forehead, not a lock out of place. A moustache was neatly trimmed. His deep blue eyes focused on Evelyn, observing everything about her but giving nothing away.
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss O’Keefe,” he said smoothly, tipping his head. “Mother, if you intend on a lengthy interrogation…”
Mrs. Brewster silenced him with a wave of her hand. “If Miss O’Keefe is to become a member of this household, I expect you to show an interest. Your business affairs can wait.” She turned back to Evelyn. “Come—sit down.”
Evelyn watched as the family members took their places along two parallel sofas in the center of the room: the Prestons on one side, Mrs. Brewster and Charles on the other. After a moment’s hesitation, Evelyn settled on a narrow wooden chair.
Mrs. Brewster began by quizzing Evelyn about her education and her qualifications, nodding approvingly when she mentioned the Baltimore families she had worked for. Beatrice sulked, Winslow looked bored and Lavinia watched silently. But it was Charles who unnerved Evelyn the most. For someone who had tried to avoid the interview, he appeared surprisingly interested in Evelyn’s answers.
“I’m curious,” he interrupted. “What is your philosophy on education for women?”
Evelyn smiled. “I believe women should receive as much education as possible.”
“But if every respectable woman’s goal is marriage,” Charles continued, “why the need for any education? Beyond the simple requirements of literacy and perhaps familiarity with household finances.”
“I believe a successful marriage is one between intellectual equals,” Evelyn responded, echoing a sentiment that had often been debated at college. “A husband will grow bored with a silly wife, but an educated woman is a worthy companion for life.”
“Hmph,” Mrs. Brewster snorted. “Do you think all young ladies should renounce marriage and family to attend college?”
Her face flushed, Evelyn rose to the bait. “Of course not,” she said quickly. “However—and with no offense intended—women used to be considered educated if they had a few years of French and could play a waltz on the piano. We have now entered a new century. Times have changed.”
“Indeed they have,” Charles agreed. To Evelyn’s surprise, he looked pleased.
“I certainly wish Beatrice to have every opportunity,” Mrs. Brewster said. “College is not necessary for someone in her position, but I can see how it would be advantageous for a woman like you, who has to make her own way in the world.”
Evelyn nodded, fairly certain she’d been insulted.
“Now, do you have any questions?” Mrs. Brewster asked.
Evelyn remembered Mrs. Brewster’s offhand comment about her becoming part of the household. “Is this a live-in position?” she asked. If so, she wouldn’t hesitate to decline. Being surrounded by these people every day would be intolerable.
“Given that you live in town, a daily schedule could be arranged,” Mrs. Brewster said. “I see no need to depr
ive your mother of your company. I know all too well what it is to be a widow alone in this world.”
Hardly alone, thought Evelyn, with three children and a household full of staff.
“I assume lessons would be held at Mr. and Mrs. Preston’s home?”
Mrs. Brewster shook her head. “We have a proper schoolroom here,” she said. “My own children took their lessons there. It’s fully supplied, but there will be funds set aside for books and any other necessities that may be required. Well then,” Mrs. Brewster continued, rising to her feet. “That will be all. We have a few other candidates expected today, but we hope to make a speedy decision. It’s high time Beatrice’s wild ways were tamed.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you for considering me.” Evelyn said her goodbyes quickly and almost raced out of the room. How foolish she had been, thinking that she would reject the Brewsters! Of course they would interview other governesses, all of them more experienced and more sophisticated than her. This meeting was simply a gesture of goodwill toward her mother, a gracious signal to the town that the Brewsters weren’t above hiring locals on occasion.
In her hurry to leave the house, Evelyn dashed toward the front door, barely giving Hayes the chance to open it for her. As she made her way swiftly down the drive, she heard her name being shouted behind her. “Miss O’Keefe!”
She stopped and turned, stunned to see Charles Brewster taking the front steps two at a time.
“Your hat, Miss O’Keefe!”
He held up Evelyn’s best hat, made of dark blue straw and decorated with a ring of woven white ribbons. Against the backdrop of the Brewster mansion, it now appeared worn and faded.
The House of Secrets Page 2
