“I wonder...” Katherine said, picking up a book of Mr. Brett’s and placing it with her packed clothing. “Mother, I have an idea. Do you think it would be all right if I wrote a letter to Mr. Roberts?”
“Whatever for?”
“I’d rather not say just yet, but there may be a solution to make everyone happy. Could you please give me his address in Jamaica?”
Mother looked undecided.
“Just one letter, Mother. I will let you know if anything comes of it. I promise.”
Her mother put down the blouse she was folding. She glanced toward the parlour, where Father was reading by the fire. Then she walked over to her writing desk and retrieved the address.
13
Emma pushed open the gate and followed the gravel path to Mrs. Morris’ front door. Wind whistled around the corners of the small house. A strong gust whooshed up from behind, speeding her along. Her stomach ached almost as bad as back in Manchester where she went days without a scrap of food and nothing but mud-brown water to drink. This pain, though, was not due to hunger. It was brought on by fear.
She should never have come here, even if Katherine did tell her mother about Emma being a housemaid and all, and Mrs. Harris didn’t mind. Neither of them suspected she was a brideship girl. Who didn’t look down on brideship girls, she’d like to know? Paying passengers thought them no more than living freight, and didn’t the townsfolk line the streets to mock the girls that first day off the ship?
She stared at the closed door. “This will be somethin’ ‘orrible,” she muttered. “Imagine me, Emma Curtis, gettin’ meself invited to tea at a proper toffken.” She turned away, into the wind, ready to run off. Her cloak flapped around her like a great sail, and she grabbed at it. Her eyes fell on the opal ring. Would Mama be proud of her now?
The door swung inward. Emma stopped breathing. What if it was that Mrs. Morris just now leaving her house?
“Emma! I saw you on the walk, but you took so long to reach the door I couldn’t wait. Come in, it’s cold out there! My mother is eager to meet you, I’ve told her all about you.”
Emma’s stomach twisted. Not all, she thought. Not half. And if the truth came out, not one of them would speak to her ever again. Even Katherine would be shocked.
Katherine took Emma’s cloak and hung it on a tall wooden stand. Then she led Emma into the parlour, a small, gloomy room cluttered with furniture. A woman sat in a stuffed armchair, stitching a dress draped over her lap. Her hair, in the soft lamplight, shone pale gold. Seeing Emma, the woman set aside the dress and stood up.
“Mother, this is my, uh – my friend, Emma Curtis. Emma, my mother, Mrs. Harris.”
Emma stared in surprise. She knew this woman was older than Emma’s own mother had been. And yet she moved with such grace, the knuckles of her hands were not swollen and sore, and her face was scarcely lined. And how those blue eyes sparkled. She still looked pretty, even at her great age! Mrs. Harris smiled and revealed a row of strong teeth, not one of them missing. “It’s lovely to meet you at last, Emma. How do you do?”
“It is a pleasure to meet you too,” Emma managed to say. Her voice sounded strangled and the beat of her heart pumped loud in her ears.
“Please, sit down. Katherine will fetch the tea as it’s the cook’s afternoon off.”
Emma perched on the very edge of an upholstered chair. She was an impostor, she should never have come. Katherine gave her an odd look, as if wondering why Emma was acting so strangely. Then she turned and left the room.
“Katherine hasn’t told me where you are from, Emma. Did you grow up in England?”
“I...yes.” Wind screamed around the windows. Emma listened for a harsh footstep, afraid Mrs. Morris might be at home. Emma had encountered that woman once before and, like as not, she would recognize Emma.
“And what part of England would that be, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Emma did mind, but she had no idea how to change the subject. “The north,” she said, hoping to leave it at that. But when Mrs. Harris said nothing and only waited, Emma added, “Manchester.”
“Oh yes, the manufacturing town.”
Emma nodded, wishing she could leave now.
“I understand thousands of paupers live on the streets of Manchester.”
“They have no other choice.”
Mrs. Harris glanced up, studied Emma for a moment, and returned to her stitching. “Katherine tells me you’re learning to ride?”
“Oh, yes!” Emma replied, grateful to be on safer ground. She spoke carefully, testing each word before speaking it aloud. “I am enjoying it immensely! Katherine is an excellent teacher.”
“I expect she is. Tell me, what is it your father did in Manchester?”
Uh. What to say? “My father,” she said, fumbling for words. Just in time, Emma remembered that Tall Joe had asked her to convey his regrets. “My father was very disappointed that he could not join us today but he and his cousin are meeting with Governor Douglas to inquire about pre-empting some land for a farm.”
“Yes. He sent me a note this morning. How unfortunate. And Mrs. Morris has left for a previous engagement, but I think Katherine mentioned our hostess was busy today?”
“Yes,” Emma’s shoulders relaxed. “Unfortunate indeed.”
Katherine burst into the room, carrying a tray with teapot, cups, saucers, cream and sugar, various sandwiches cut into tiny sections, and squares of little cakes. “If you want my opinion,” she said, “it’s not unfortunate at all. We were quite glad to be rid of her.”
“Katherine!” her mother scolded. “That is no way to speak of our hostess!”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Katherine said, and winked at Emma. “Even if it is true.”
Mrs. Harris shook her head sadly.
After that, things went much more smoothly. They discussed Victoria and Hope and the huge differences between the two communities. In the one, townsfolk liked to pretend they still lived in Britain, with all its strict rules of behavior and firm division between upper and lower classes. In the other, everyone worked hard simply to stay alive and had no time to fuss about rules that held no meaning for them.
They talked about farm life too. “It won’t be easy for you,” Mrs. Harris warned Emma, “not when you’re used to an easier life.”
Easy? Her life? Just then, taking a sip of tea with the cup held daintily by its delicate handle, her little finger curled perfectly, and trying her best to look ladylike, Emma choked. She tried but couldn’t stop coughing.
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Harris put down her cup and saucer and hurried over.
“Katherine, run and fetch a glass of water.”
“I am so sorry,” Emma gasped when she was able to speak. She accepted the glass from Katherine and took a small sip. She was mortified, she had tried so hard to be on her best behavior.
“That’s perfectly all right,” Mrs. Harris assured her. “It could happen to anyone.”
“I’m sorry if we frightened you, telling you what hard work there is on a farm,” Katherine said.
“I think I will like it,” Emma told them. “My mother grew up in the countryside and always wanted to live away from the city.”
“Well, you must be certain to tell your father you will need help,” Mrs. Harris said. “What with three men to cook for and clean up after as well as all the farm chores that fall to us women.”
Me have a girl helping out? And what would Mama think of that? Emma almost smiled. She was glad she came after all. Katherine’s mother seemed kind enough, and these little cakes were delicious. She reached for another.
Then it happened.
The front door flew open along with a gust of wind. In walked a woman Emma recognized immediately. If there had been more than a drop of tea left in her cup, she would have
spilled it, her hand shook that badly. Emma held the saucer with one hand and steadied the cup with the other, afraid it would shake right off and crash to the floor. She averted her face.
“Mrs. Morris,” Mrs. Harris said, rising to her feet.
Katherine stood up too, and Emma followed suit. She kept her head bowed, staring into the teacup clutched against her stomach. With any luck Mrs. Morris would not recognize her.
Mrs. Harris went on. “I’m so pleased you arrived home in time to meet Katherine’s friend, Emma Curtis. Emma, this is...”
“You!” Mrs. Morris raised her gloved hand and pointed a trembling finger at Emma. “In my home! If I had known it was you...well, I never!” She turned to Mrs. Harris. “This is the very girl I told you about,” she sputtered, “the one who dared to insult my very good friend, Mrs. Steeves, whom I introduced you to only yesterday!”
Katherine narrowed her eyes. She happened to know Mrs. Steeves was about as pleasant a person as Mrs. Morris herself. “Whatever Emma said, I’m certain Mrs. Steeves must have deserved it,” she said.
A deathly silence settled over the small room. Emma continued to stare into her teacup, trembling on its saucer. Katherine glared at Mrs. Morris. Mrs. Morris appealed to Mrs. Harris. Mrs. Harris frowned at her daughter.
“Do you see what I’m expected to put up with? Your daughter has no respect for me whatsoever!” Mrs. Morris whined.
“Katherine!” her mother said. “That is entirely unacceptable behavior. You must apologize at once.”
But Katherine was too angry to speak. This woman was unendurable. She would never apologize, no matter what her mother said.
“And to think,” Mrs. Morris sputtered, “to think your daughter had the nerve to invite one of those dreadful Tynemouth wretches into my home. My home!” She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “Oh! It’s all coming back to me now. The girl is a cripple no less. A cripple and a brideship girl who works for that dreadful woman Governor Douglas chose to marry!”
At this, Mrs. Harris went white and her eyes blazed. “A cripple, because she limps slightly? I suppose you call my husband a cripple too, behind his back. And there’s no need to insult Mrs. Douglas either. She seems to me a good woman even if she is not British.”
She glanced over at Katherine. “I will admit Katherine has been unforgivably rude, but Emma here...” She broke off and turned to the spot where Emma had been standing a moment before. It was empty. “You’ve frightened her off, the poor child!”
“Good riddance is all I can say!”
“And I’ll tell you what I say...” Katherine began, but her mother cut in.
“You are dismissed.”
“But...”
“Katherine, go to your room immediately. I shall deal with you later. Mrs. Morris and I have matters to discuss.”
Katherine stomped out of the parlour. She ran up the narrow staircase, slammed the door to her room, locked it with the key, and plopped herself down on the edge of the bed. Board money or not, Mrs. Morris would kick her out now and Katherine would have to return home with her mother. No more school, no more Nugget, no more friend.
Emma had never once mentioned being from the brideship, Tynemouth. If she had, would things have turned out differently? Would Katherine have confided in her mother? Would they have invited Emma for tea had they known? Katherine couldn’t say for sure. One thing was clear though. Emma still didn’t trust her.
Well and what a fool she had been, Emma told herself over and over as she scurried away from Mrs. Morris’ house, her head bowed against wind-driven rain. She should never have gone. What’s more, she should never have started to like Katherine. Get close to someone and they died on you or sent you away, one of the two, and shame on her for forgetting it.
Emma saw the horrified look on Katherine’s face as she listened to Mrs. Morris’ vicious words. And Mrs. Harris too looked mortified to learn she had invited a brideship girl to take tea with them. One of those half-starved orphans plucked from the streets and workhouses of England. Up to no good, an’ that’s for certain-sure.
She kept her head down, fighting tears. Her leg ached and she limped badly but didn’t care who noticed. She started across the James Bay Bridge. Battered by high winds off the harbour, the bridge deck trembled beneath her feet. A strong gust whipped up and tossed Emma hard against the railing. She regained her footing and hunched into the wind, clutching her cloak close while rain pelted her face so hard it hurt. Out of nowhere, a strong arm slipped across her back, a solid body came between her and the wind. She glanced up.
“Oh, Edward, you frightened me!”
“Didn’t mean to. I saw you fighting the wind and thought you could use some help.” He kept walking as he spoke. Helping her along with him, he shielded her from the full force of the wind. A little thrill shivered through Emma. Edward was such a comfort. And he fancied her, she was certain of that. She smiled at him.
“You’re still too thin, Emma. That’s why you get so cold and the wind knocks you over like a twig. You need some meat on your bones, like Katherine.”
Katherine? Emma stopped. They were almost across the bridge where the wind’s fury lessened. “I don’t need anyone’s help, thank you very much,” she snapped.
Edward’s eyes crinkled with concern. “You’re not crying, Emma?”
“ ‘Course not. It’s the rain and salt spray and nothing more!” She walked away, but Edward kept pace, his hand at her elbow.
“I’ll thank you to take your hand away and leave me be.”
He let go.
Will you never learn, you foolish girl? Emma chided herself as she continued toward the Douglas house alone. Her cheeks burned. Of course Edward didn’t fancy her, not since that Katherine came along. Katherine, who rode a horse so perfectly well. Katherine, who looked so lovely and wasn’t all skin and bone. When spring came round and it was time for Edward to leave Beckley Farm and go as hired hand with Tall Joe, Ned Turner, and herself to help get their farm started, Edward would change his mind, and that’s for certain-sure. He would never want to leave his precious Katherine behind.
Emma let herself in as quietly as possible with the wind trying to fling the door from its hinges. She tiptoed up to her room. She didn’t need any questions from Mrs. Douglas right now.
Katherine sat on her bed, seething with anger. By flickering candlelight she attempted to read Oliver Twist, one of the books Mr. Brett had lent her. But Charles Dickens exaggerated so – England was not half so bad as he made out. There were workhouses to care for homeless people, and no human being could be half so cruel as all those people were to poor Oliver. She put down the book and leaned back on her pillow.
What had Emma’s life been like before coming here? If it were anywhere near as bad as Oliver’s, then small wonder she chose not to talk about it. But of course it couldn’t have been. Help was always there for poor children. Wasn’t it?
A powerful gust howled around her window. Rain beat against the glass. Katherine shuddered. Her mother and Mrs. Morris must be talking up a storm of their own in the parlour below.
The longer she waited, the angrier she grew. How could they sit down there and blame an innocent girl for all the troubles that happened to her, as if Emma had brought them on herself? Katherine got up and strode to the door. She would march downstairs and give them her opinion, like it or not. Her hand was on the key when a knock on the door made her jump.
“Katherine! Let me in, I must talk to you!”
She unlocked the door.
Mother bustled in and shut the door behind her. “I’ve managed to settle things with Mrs. Morris,” she whispered. She ushered her daughter over to the bed and sat beside her. “She’s very upset, of course. You should never have spoken to her that way.”
“But Mother, she was so rude!” Katherine’s voice
grew louder with each word. “And if you’ve met Mrs. Steeves, then you know she’s a...”
Her mother’s hand clapped over Katherine’s mouth.
“Mrs. Steeves is a respected member of this community,” Mother said. “Children must never be rude to adults. It is inexcusable!”
“Even if the adults are wrong?” Katherine asked.
“Unquestionably.” Mother paused to think. “Katie, try to look at it this way. If you insult Mrs. Steeves, who is Mrs. Morris’ good friend, then Mrs. Morris will naturally defend her, just as you defended Emma – in spite of everything.”
Katherine started to object, but her mother went on. “In any event, it took some doing, but I managed to persuade Mrs. Morris to let you remain for the school term. I suspect she does not want to give up her board money. However, there are two conditions.” She took a quick breath. “First, you must apologize,” Mother put up her hand to silence Katherine, “and second, you must not continue this friendship with Emma.”
“I can’t do that,” Katherine said flatly. “Not either of those things.”
“I was afraid of that.” Mother pressed her knuckles against her lips, thinking. “All right then, listen carefully. As for the apology, if you could merely say you’re sorry for speaking back to her – without mentioning that she deserved it – I’m certain that would suffice.”
Katherine didn’t answer. How could she make her mother understand? She would never apologize after the way Mrs. Morris behaved.
“Could you do that, Katie? Otherwise you will need to return to Yale with me come Saturday.”
Yale. A return to Yale now meant a return to the farm come spring. And Katherine was not ready to leave Victoria, not yet. By June, if she worked hard and with Mr. Brett’s help, she would be ready to open a school for young students. And she couldn’t bear to say goodbye to Nugget, not until she absolutely had to.
Taking the Reins Page 15
