A Mistaken Match

by Whitney Bailey

  “How much does she need?” Ann asked.

  “Two yards. We’ll attach it to the dress when you complete it, but it must all be done eight weeks from today. Is there any way you can produce it in time?”

  Ann had to know she’d be long gone from New Haven by then. She must have pondered the same thing, because she chewed her lower lip while Mrs. Williams leaned farther and farther forward.

  “The pay would be considerable,” Mrs. Williams added.

  Ann’s head snapped up. “I’ll have it completed in four weeks.”

  Mrs. Williams gasped. “There’s no need to rush, dear.”

  “I’m afraid—” Ann caught James’s eye “—my stay in New Haven should be over by summer’s end.”

  “Ah, well then.” Mrs. Williams fumbled for words. “I was under the impression your stay was indefinite.”

  The room grew suddenly hot. James raked his hands through his hair and shifted his weight.

  “James and his Uncle Mac are my kind hosts. I would not be able to experience the beauty of rural Ohio without their hospitality.”

  She hadn’t lied, but she had avoided all of Mrs. Williams’s unspoken questions.

  At that moment Delia appeared from the front of shop.

  “Mrs. Williams? Miss Vollrath is crossing the street.”

  “Thank you, Delia.” She turned to Ann. “Her timing couldn’t be more perfect. You can meet your customer in a moment.” Mrs. Williams hurried to the front of the shop just as the bell over the door jangled, signaling Priscilla’s arrival.

  Ann rose from her chair. Did his eyes deceive him, or did her legs quake for an instant? He pushed down the urge to wrap his arms around her in reassurance. Instead, he placed a light hand on her shoulder.

  “I’ll be praying for you,” he whispered in her ear, steeling himself against the lavender scent washing over him. “Because you’re going to need divine intervention to work for Priscilla.”

  * * *

  Ann’s heart galloped in her chest at the words of warning. James crossed his arms over his broad chest and gazed down at her. For a moment she longed for him to open up those arms and pull her into a reassuring embrace. But that wasn’t going to happen. So she’d just have to be strong for herself—as she always was. Lifting her chin, she forced confidence into her voice as she said, “I believe I’m up for the challenge.”

  “Can you really make the lace that fast?” he asked.

  “I’m certain of it.”

  As a maid she’d produced far more lace in far less time. Mrs. Atherton never gave thought to Ann’s other duties when demanding a new piece. Even if she had to go without sleep for days, Ann knew she could finish this project with time to spare.

  “Priscilla Vollrath can be quite a handful.”

  Ann sensed he was trying to scare her. If only he knew what really frightened her. It was not her new customer or the tight deadline. No, what she feared most was the letter from Mrs. Turner. If it arrived before she finished the lace, she could be leaving New Haven without a penny to her name. She had no hope that James was correct in his prediction of a rich man awaiting her. Mrs. Turner could not have been more explicit as to the terms of her match with James. If she could not make it work, she should consider herself on her own in this new country. No more matches. Until she’d arrived, Ann’s pride never allowed her to imagine James would be anything less than thrilled to meet her.

  The front of the shop could not be seen from their vantage point. Ann reared back her shoulders and rounded the corner. Mrs. Williams was in the middle of apologizing profusely to a small, slender girl in an elaborately feathered hat. The girl ignored the seamstress and glanced about the room, her face slack with boredom.

  “...and if I’d known you’d wanted it in pink, I assure you I would have ordered it,” Mrs. Williams continued.

  “I shouldn’t have to say it.” The girl sniffed. “I told you once I like pink roses.”

  “Yes, er, I’m sure you did.”

  When the girl turned her back, Mrs. Williams rolled her eyes heavenward and threw up her hands in exasperation.

  The seamstress turned in Ann’s direction and a broad smile spread over her face. “I have wonderful news,” Mrs. Williams said to Miss Vollrath’s turned back. “Miss Cromwell believes she can produce the lace in time and to your specifications.”

  No specifications had been discussed, but before Ann could wonder what she meant, the girl looked over at her and shot her a broad and toothy smile that was anything but genuine.

  “Miss Cromwell, how lovely to meet you.” The girl let a thimble she’d been fingering drop onto the nearest table. It hit the wood with a clatter and bounced onto the floor. She ignored it as she moved to sit in a nearby upholstered chair.

  “Lovely to meet you, as well, Miss Vollrath.”

  Ann offered the briefest of curtsies, and the girl’s eyes brightened, clearly impressed by Ann’s accent and deference.

  “You may call me Priscilla,” she said, as if bestowing Ann with a great honor.

  James stepped forward to Ann’s side.

  “Nice to see you again, Priscilla.”

  His warm baritone took an edge off Ann’s nerves. Please stay.

  Priscilla sniffed. Ann recognized it at once as Priscilla Vollrath’s version of hello, reserved for those she felt beneath her. She’d had the same greeting directed toward her more times than she could count.

  “Well, I’d best go see Frederick. You ladies have a nice day. Ann, I’ll be back to fetch you in a few hours, if that’s alright.”

  Ann only nodded. She knew it was too much to ask him to stand in the corner of the shop all afternoon as moral support.

  Priscilla tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair and exhaled.

  “Please sit down, Miss Cromwell. We have much to talk about.”

  The discussion that followed reminded Ann more of her life in England than anything else she’d encountered since arriving in America. She was in service again, with Priscilla as her mistress. The needle lace Ann had already produced appeared adequate, Priscilla admitted, but not fit for her wedding dress. Sketch pads were requested and produced. Soon they were covered by Ann’s hand in swirls and loops of charcoal representing lace.

  According to Priscilla, Ann’s designs were both too heavy and too light. Too intricate and at the same time too sparse. They examined Ann’s handkerchiefs for inspiration, and Priscilla commenced pointing out the shortcomings of each. Cups of tea were poured, sipped and disparaged. After an hour of criticizing, Priscilla stood and announced a begrudging satisfaction with Ann’s new designs.

  “I never thought this wedding would be so much work.” She pouted.

  Ann followed her to the door. “It sounds like everything will turn out quite lovely.”

  “The finest wedding in three counties,” Priscilla corrected. “That’s what Father promised.”

  “And it will be,” Mrs. Williams and Delia replied in unison, and with far too much enthusiasm.

  “Yes, it will be,” Ann agreed.

  Priscilla nodded and thrust her nose into the air before exiting the shop.

  As soon as she disappeared out of sight, Mrs. Williams and Delia dropped themselves into the nearest chairs. “This wedding cannot come too soon,” Mrs. Williams announced as she fanned herself with one hand.

  “I don’t know how you held your composure, Ann,” Delia said. “And to think—you’ll be dealing with that girl every week!”

  During their meeting, Priscilla expressed doubt Ann would remember all of her instructions. She had insisted on a review of her work, to be held in the shop once a week on an ever-changing day of Priscilla’s choosing.

  “I think she’ll be pleased with the end result,” Ann said.

  “I hope so, dear, but
her instructions were so vague and contradictory. How will you know what to do?” Mrs. Williams asked.

  Ann lifted two handkerchiefs Priscilla had referred to—and criticized—repeatedly. “She wants the pattern from this one but edged with the border from this one.”

  Delia leaned forward and squinted at the lace, then back at the dozen sketches laid out on the table. “You’re right! But how on earth could you tell? All I could hear were her complaints.”

  Complaints were Ann’s specialty. Her former mistress, Mrs. Atherton, could turn a phrase in such a way that even a compliment came out as a criticism. How odd to find Ann’s years of service had granted her the very skills necessary for dealing with customers like Priscilla Vollrath. “You have to know what to listen for,” Ann answered.

  Mrs. Williams hoisted herself from her chair and staggered toward the counter in mock weariness. “Why don’t you take your lunch now, Delia? I’ll mind the shop.”

  Delia glided to the back and reemerged with a small woven basket. “Would you like to join me? I take my lunch on the other side of the courthouse. Egg salad. I don’t have much but we could share.”

  “I’m not hungry, but I would love to sit with you.” Not hungry was an understatement. Ann wondered if she’d ever eat another egg again.

  They crossed the dusty street and walked down the block to benches shaded by the impressive stone courthouse. Several others were enjoying picnic lunches and waved. Delia unwrapped the wax paper from her sandwich and again offered Ann a bite before eating.

  “Did you really tell Mrs. Williams you could produce the lace in four weeks?”

  Ann nodded.

  “But why? Priscilla’s wedding isn’t until September.”

  Ann drew in a deep breath. Should she tell her? She’d hope to leave town with her pride intact. But it would be such a comfort to confide in a friend.

  “I very much doubt I’ll still be in New Haven by September.”

  Delia’s warm brown eyes widened.

  “You already plan to leave? But you barely know one another!”

  “James asked for an ugly wife,” Ann blurted.

  “What?” Delia let out a nervous laugh.

  “When James wrote to the agency he asked for a plain wife. An ugly wife. But they matched me with him instead. He’s only allowing me to stay until the agency sorts out the mistake.”

  “Why would James ask for a plain wife?”

  Ann sighed. “It doesn’t matter. He’s as ill-suited a match for me as I am for him.”

  Delia wrapped a long arm around her shoulders. “There must be something to be done. If there’s been a mistake and James will be matched with someone else—surely there’s another suitor for you, as well?”

  “No, there isn’t. Mrs. Turner—she’s the woman at the agency—she told me James was the only suitable match for me that she had.”

  Delia pulled back and looked Ann straight in the eye, her forehead creased in confusion. “That doesn’t seem possible. A beauty like you?”

  Ann’s cheeks warmed under the scrutiny. “It’s true. Dozens of other girls passed through the agency before I matched with James.”

  “Hmm.” Delia pursed her lips. “And if this doesn’t work out, you’ll have to return to England?”

  Ann’s stomach dropped to her knees. “N-no,” she stammered, an icy cold spreading across her belly at the very thought of returning. “England is the one place in the world I will never again call home.”

  Chapter Eight

  Delia clucked her tongue. “You can’t return to England? What do you mean?”

  Ann rubbed her forehead. “It’s a long story.”

  “I have all the time in the world.”

  But did Ann have the strength to share the memories that weighed on her so heavily? Just thinking of what she was about to say brought tears to her eyes. She’d pushed the memories down deep for so long, she’d come to believe they might be gone forever. Now she felt ready to reveal them and discovered they had always been under the surface. Each moment from her past surged forward with a bright clarity that brought an ache to her chest.

  “I entered service at the age of ten. Mother and Father had died of fever, and with no relatives to take us in, my siblings and I were sent to an orphanage. After many months scrubbing floors for my keep, they noticed my hard work and arranged a position in a nice house for me.

  “I was the Athertons’ scullery maid. Each morning I rose at five and started the kitchen fire. During the day I toiled in the basement, almost never seeing the sun. I rarely crawled into bed before twelve, and for the first six months I cried myself to sleep.”

  Delia’s forehead knotted in pity and Ann waved it away.

  “It wasn’t really so horrible. I had a roof over my head, regular meals and a few coins in my pocket. But I missed my brothers and sisters dreadfully. My entire body ached with loneliness. I was in service seven months before I met a single member of the family I served.”

  “Who hired you?” Delia interrupted.

  “The housekeeper.”

  “And you never met any of them for seven months. Not one?” Delia sounded incredulous.

  Ann chuckled. It must sound absurd to anyone outside that life. “Servants strive to be invisible. My work rarely called me out of the kitchen, but when it did, I scurried away at the first hint of an approaching family member. We attended church with them, but walked a distance behind on the way, and servants sat in the rear of the sanctuary. I first met Mr. and Mrs. Atherton at Christmastime when they called me into the drawing room and presented me with a bolt of cloth with which to make myself a new uniform. I’d been in their service eleven months by then.”

  Delia raised a brow. “I thought you said it was seven months.”

  “I said it was seven months before I met a member of the family—their son William. I had been tasked with fetching something from an upstairs closet and ran headlong into William Atherton in my haste. I was only eleven. William was fifteen. For me, it was heart-wrenching love at first sight.

  “For the next several years, I looked forward to even the slightest glimpse of him. When I was promoted to chambermaid, my new duties put me in the Athertons’ living areas. The other maids claimed they rarely saw him, but I would encounter him on the servant stairs or rummaging through the kitchen pantry as often as twice a week. Once, I found him outside my quarters in the attic. He claimed to be lost. I walked in the park one day on my afternoon off, and we passed on a bridge. We only nodded to one another—anything more would have been wholly inappropriate—but the moment thrilled me. For days I could barely concentrate on my work.”

  Ann licked her lips and sent up a silent prayer for courage. She never thought she’d share this story with anyone, but now she’d begun and wasn’t sure she could stop.

  “I told myself our meeting in the park was coincidence, but the next week I passed him on the same bridge at the same time. That’s when I knew he’d come there to see me. The week after, he pressed a slip of paper into my hand as we passed. On it he professed his love.”

  The familiar ache of embarrassment and regret turned in her stomach. Delia reached out and placed a cool hand on Ann’s arm but didn’t interrupt.

  “I should never have believed what he’d written. We’d barely spoken to one another. But I had longed after him for nearly five years. It never occurred to me that my naive infatuation was nothing like his desire for me.”

  Ann drew another deep breath. A tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away.

  “First we met in corridors, far from prying eyes. He brought me little presents and pledged his undying devotion. My love for him was deep and aching, and when he spoke, I could only believe his feelings were as sincere as mine. If I’d let one kernel of doubt into my heart, I might have avoided every
thing. Instead, it took just one promise of marriage. One promise to give up his inheritance and family and run away with me. That one promise led me to stumble down a path from which I could never return.”

  A pain in Ann’s arm stopped her breath. Delia’s grip had tightened to the point where the skin had colored white around Delia’s fingertips. She released her grasp and murmured, “Sorry,” before taking up the same viselike hold on Ann’s hand.

  “A month later he was gone. Back to university. I didn’t suspect anything was wrong until my breakfast left me every morning. A few more weeks passed and I knew with certainty that I was with child. I wrote to him straight away and told him everything, but months went by with no reply. He was never going to help me. That’s when I foolishly thought I could help myself.”

  Delia’s grip tightened. The discomfort was nothing compared to the pain gripping Ann’s heart.

  “If I live a hundred years, I’ll never be more ashamed of anything than I am of the various things I did next. Hot baths, jumping off park benches and drinking castor oil and pennyroyal tea. Everything I’d ever heard of for girls in my condition, I tried. Yet my attempts failed.

  “I knew if the Athertons found out, I would be cast into the street. I never stopped writing to William, but I never received a response. I had no choice but to conceal my condition, and it was startlingly easy. Our uniforms were full at the waist, and the other maids with whom I shared a room always dressed and undressed in the dark to save lamplight. I concealed it so well, I nearly forgot about it myself. Until the night of the dinner party.

  “That night the spasms in my belly grew strong and frequent. I set the table for the Athertons and their guests, and excused myself to my room. I hoped I only needed to rest before dinner service. By the time I reached the attic, the pain grew so severe I could hardly stand. Within the hour I gave birth to a baby boy. He had a head of dark hair and the most darling little nose.

  “When I didn’t appear at dinner, Mrs. Atherton sent another maid, Jane, to look for me. I owe my life, and the life of the baby, to Jane’s indiscretion. Instead of divulging my condition to the Athertons in private, she marched into the dining room and announced she’d found a baby in my room. The family doctor was a dinner guest that night, and when he heard the news, he came to my room straight away. I believe God placed Dr. Shields there. Without him as witness, Mrs. Atherton would have tossed both the infant and me out of her house at that very moment.”