“Didn’t you try to explain to Richard?” I asked, confused.
“Gabriel wouldn’t let me near him. Protected him like one of those overprotective mama bears I’ve read about. I’ve never seen anyone so mad before,” she said. “And not so again, until I saw him recently. He said horrible, horrible things. He accused me of playing with Richard, stringing him along to meet Henry. To meet someone better. As though I would meet someone better than Richard.
“Gabriel’s got a long memory, Rissa. Don’t forget that, but he’s a good man. Just like his brother.” Her voice cracked again, as she bent over at the waist, placing her face in her hands, sobbing.
I patted her gently on the back, uncertain what to say, knowing there was nothing to say. Finally Florence stopped crying. “Florence, come for tea,” I urged.
“No, thank you, Rissa. I don’t relish being near your stepmother.”
She blew her nose again. Her face showed remarkably little effect from her crying, a feat I envied.
“Then let’s go out for tea,” I encouraged. “My treat.”
“No, Clarissa,” she said in a stronger voice, balling up the handkerchief in her hand, looking at it. “I’m used to being alone.”
“Just because you are used to it, doesn’t mean you have to remain alone.”
She shook her head, patted my hand as though comforting me and rose. “I hope your curiosity has been satisfied.”
“Florence,” I replied in a low voice. “That’s not fair. I care about you. You’re my friend.”
I saw her blush and look toward the floor. “Forgive me, Rissa,” she whispered. “I have a way of becoming prickly when I feel vulnerable.” She met my gaze with a melancholic half smile as she continued to sniffle.
I smiled slowly, gripping her hand. “I know exactly what you need,” I murmured. “You need to meet my friend, Sophie. Let’s call on her for tea.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Florence protested, running a hand down the front of her gown.
“You can and you will,” I argued, brooking no refusal today. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 27
I MARCHED DOWN THE STREET, almost towing Florence along beside me, my arm hooked through hers. I refused to allow her to walk separately, as I knew she would flee at the first opportunity. Today we climbed over the Hill to Beacon Street. I was hopeful the exertions would clear my mind of the roiling thoughts Florence’s story had unleashed. I could not fathom my family giving me away. I did not want to imagine what that would do to my spirit.
We arrived at Sophie’s, breathless and in desperate need of refreshment. The green shutters gleamed in the sunlight next to the windows, and we stood in front of the green door. Carriages bustled past on Beacon Street, I heard children playing in the Common, and birds trilled in the trees above us. I grasped the brass knocker, tapping loudly on the door, waiting impatiently for the butler to answer. Florence stood beside me.
“Oh, it’s you, miss,” the formally attired butler intoned, not waiting for a card. “I will determine if Mrs. Chickering is at home.”
Florence and I entered the subdued entranceway, the upper walls a pale mauve satin wallpaper and the bottom half a crisp white wainscoting. “I really shouldn’t be here,” Florence pleaded, eyeing the door.
“If you will follow me,” the butler interrupted any response I might have given. We turned to follow him upstairs into the front parlor. Sophie sat alone on a comfortable settee, reading a book that she set down with a loud thunk upon our entrance. Her aquamarine eyes flashed with curiosity upon seeing me enter with Florence. Her emerald-green bombazine dress complimented the yellow satin of the matching parlor suite.
The room, filled with the parlor suite and a smattering of side tables, had a welcoming air with overflowing ferns sitting in a bow-fronted window and books scattered throughout. Instead of walls covered with overlapping paintings, there was one focal painting of a mountain glen, with light sparkling through the branches at dawn.
“Harrumph,” she grumbled. “You’ve finally decided to return.” She glared at me in a scolding manner.
“I’m sorry, Sophie. Life has become quite hectic of late,” I replied, smiling. I knew she was not truly angry with me.
“And you are?” Sophie turned toward Florence, setting her bright, almost fierce, aquamarine eyes on Florence.
“I am Florence, Florence Butler, ma’am,” Florence said, a hint of steel in her tone. “I work with Clarissa at the school.”
“And are you a suffragette?” Sophie demanded.
“No.”
“No? No?” Sophie gasped out. “What is this nonsense, bringing such a girl by, Clarissa?”
I laughed. “Sophie, she may not have dedicated her time to the cause, but she’s forward thinking. Maybe more so than you or I am.”
Florence was embarrassed and refused to say any more.
“Well, girl, speak up,” Sophie demanded. “What are your thoughts on the vote? On women’s rights?” She leaned back against her chair, watching Florence.
“I would like to have the vote,” Florence responded. “I would like to have the ability to express what I want.”
“What about leaving it to the men in your life to do just that for you?” Sophie challenged.
“Well, as I have no men in my life, there is no one to look out for my interests. And I find that most have a very limited view of charity,” Florence said. She reached for her cup of tea, the cup rattling slightly, betraying her nerves.
“Well said,” Sophie nearly cheered. “I like this girl, Clarissa.”
“I knew you would,” I said with a broad smile.
“How come you haven’t visited sooner?” Sophie asked Florence, picking up a biscuit to nibble on.
“I, ah, well, I…”
Sophie looked over her clothes with an assessing eye. “You are rather shabbily dressed. Were you afraid your poverty would prevent you from being received?” At Florence’s blush, Sophie snorted. “Nonsense, girl,” she said. “We need more strong hardworking women like you in the movement. Women who actually know what it is to toil for a living wage, rather than those who sit around drinking tea and gossiping all day long.” She eyed Florence again, taking in her slight discomfort at the surroundings. “Tell me, Florence, a bit about your background.”
“Oh, I, ah, it’s really not that interesting,” Florence stammered.
“It’s always interesting to me,” Sophie encouraged with a small smile.
“Before I started teaching, I worked for Mrs. Kruger as a maid,” she said.
“Mrs. Kruger? Old Mrs. Kruger who lived in Chester Square?” Sophie beamed. “She was a fine old woman, wasn’t she?” Her tone was nearly reverent as she spoke of her.
“Chester Square?” I asked at almost the same time, incredulous that Florence had lived in the South End, and I had never met her.
“You knew Mrs. Kruger?” Florence asked Mrs. Chickering.
“I did. Though to my everlasting regret, I did not give her the time she merited. I always intended to call, sending my card numerous times but failed to show,” Sophie stated. “She had a keen mind, extraordinarily curious about the world. Far too advanced for the age she had been born into.”
“Yes, well, she treated me quite well and helped to see to my future,” Florence said.
“You were fortunate indeed, dear, to work for one such as her,” Sophie intoned. “So now you teach the downtrodden at the same school as my girl Clarissa?”
“Yes, I specialize in the home economics courses, though I am trained in all subjects,” Florence murmured.
“Which is a good thing, as I am absolutely dreadful with anything to do with the home arts, and she constantly saves me from being reprimanded by the school board,” I interjected.
“Are you telling me that you will not be able to run a successful home and create a pleasing home environment?” Sophie demanded with an evil twinkle in her eye.
“I doubt it would meet my stepmother’s sta
ndards.” I giggled. Sophie began to chortle, too.
“Ah, that woman is insufferable. Count yourself fortunate if you have never met her, Florence,” Sophie said.
I saw Florence glance at the clock on the mantel. “I am dreadfully sorry to have to leave,” she said. “I have a prior engagement and must go.”
I watched her through slitted eyes, not believing her ruse, but decided not to press her. I clasped her hand. “Thank you for joining me today, Flo.”
“You are always welcome for tea, Florence Butler,” Sophie said. “I should like to discuss Mrs. Kruger more with you.”
After Florence’s hasty departure, I leaned back against my chair, relaxing. “Thank you for being so friendly and kind to Florence.”
“She seems a lost soul,” Sophie said, watching me.
“She is. She has no one in this world. No family. Nothing.”
“Humph,” Sophie grunted. “As long as she has good friends, she will never be truly alone.” After a short pause, “I am disappointed, my girl.”
I raised my eyebrows, certain I had done nothing to disappoint her.
“You were not at the celebration for Mrs. Ward-Howe.”
“But I was,” I protested, though I did not relish reliving that day.
“Why weren’t you on the porch with the rest of us?” Sophie demanded, glowering at me.
“I was informed by Gertrude and Mrs. Cushing that, because I wasn’t on the committee, I wasn’t allowed on the porch.”
“Nonsense!” Sophie hissed. “I can’t imagine such insolence.”
I shrugged.
“You mean to tell me that you were down in that crowd?”
This time I nodded.
Sophie sighed. “It’s all my fault you know. It’s because the younger ones dislike me and are trying to show their mettle that they treat you like that.”
“Well, suffice it to say, it wasn’t my ideal afternoon,” I murmured, refusing to dwell further on the memory of the crowd, the jostling for position, the sense that I would be crushed.
“Harrumph,” Sophie said, causing me to laugh.
We sat in companionable silence a few moments. “Sophie, I do not have your backbone,” I admitted with a long sigh.
“Clarissa, my girl, tell me what the matter is so I can help you dispel it,” Sophronia said, her tone expressing she had no doubt of her ability.
“I watch you interact with the other suffragettes and with my stepmother, and I see how strong you are. I see how passionate you are in your beliefs. I am amazed at your ability to communicate them and persuade others to your way of thinking. I do not have such an ability.”
“What is this nonsense?”
“Sophie, a few times, when I have been pushed about my beliefs, I back down, rather than start an argument. Isn’t that wrong?” I said. “Shouldn’t I stand up, express myself?”
“It’s not wrong knowing the time and the place to say your piece. And for my part, there’s never a better place to speak your mind than with a group of suffragettes. If you can’t with them, you can’t anywhere,” she said with another harrumph. She pinned me with a humor-filled look. “And I particularly enjoyed irritating your stepmother.”
“How did you have a full life, marriage, children and also suffragism?” I asked. “Do you think your husband would have approved?”
She eyed me over her teacup, taking a dainty sip of oolong. “So this is about a man?” At my faint blush, she chortled. “Ah, dear, I know some of the suffragettes, including Susan, never espoused marriage. But to the right man, it can be wonderful. You simply must take care and choose the correct one.”
“You make it sound so simple,” I replied, thoughts of Gabriel flitting through my mind. Sophie merely laughed, reminding me that she had raised daughters and must be used to such antics.
“Tell me about your young man,” Sophie demanded.
“Gabriel is…he is…” I paused finding it difficult to summarize. “He is the antithesis of Cameron. Dark. Moody. Intense. Loyal. Intriguing.” I sighed. “He loves to read, is curious about the world. Dreams of travel and adventure.”
“Fascinating,” Sophronia said. “What worries you?”
“That he seems to support my teaching and beliefs now, but will that all change if we were to marry, have children? Do men always change?” I asked in confusion and frustration.
“No more than we do, dearest,” Sophie replied with a wry quirk on her lips. “We change just as much, though no one likes to admit it. Only you can decide if he is worth taking that risk. Otherwise, if your teaching and beliefs are that important to you, you need to remain single.”
“How were you able to have a family and be a suffragette? Did your husband understand your need for, oh, I don’t know, more?” I asked, leaning forward.
“You must remember, Clarissa, that, though I had a wonderful husband who was very supportive, he died early in our marriage. I have no idea if he would have supported my beliefs, and we were never tested in that way. By the time he died, I had three young children to care for, but he had thankfully left me a very wealthy young widow.” Sophie stared into the painting on the far wall for a few moments.
“Never underestimate the importance of financial independence, my girl. I had this lovely house, maids, nannies, others to help me with the day-to-day running of my life. After I finished the worst of my mourning, I had freedom—such a luxurious, rare commodity—to discover what truly interested me. And so I did.”
In the ensuing silence, I considered her words.
“Do you know what I find interesting as you talked about your young man?” Sophie asked, watching me with intense but wicked humor in her eyes.
I shook my head, uncertain how I could have amused her.
“I find it fascinating that in no part of that description did you talk about his physical characteristics.”
“Oh, well, I could if you like,” I stammered out.
“No, I am only remarking that it bodes well that it is not merely the physical that has you enthralled,” Sophie replied.
I nodded my agreement.
“It means that you don’t want one of those silly so-called happy and ‘get with’ marriages,” Sophronia said.
“Get with?”
“Where you think you’re so happy, you get with child every year, and you’re dead from exhaustion by age thirty-five,” Sophie said. “I hope you would want more than that.”
I blushed fiercely at the thought of having Gabriel’s child. I nodded again, out of breath all of a sudden.
“And now, my girl,” she said with a small chuckle, glancing at the clock, “I am afraid your stepmother would become quite cross if I kept you here any longer.”
“Thank you for tea, Sophie,” I said. “I will try to call again soon, although things will be hectic with my cousin’s upcoming wedding.”
“I shall look forward to reading about it in the papers,” Sophie said with another of her wicked smiles.
***
I DETOURED THROUGH THE PUBLIC GARDENS, walking along a path that hugged the pond containing the swan boats. The air smelled sweet from the blooming roses, and birds flitted from tree to tree, singing their songs. I exited onto Arlington Street and paused at the street corner as carriages and carts rushed by. I crossed over, passing a small crowd waiting to board an arriving trolley headed toward the South End.
At that moment, someone grabbed my arm and spun me around. I gasped, shocked to be treated in such a way. “Cameron!” I wrenched at my arm, but he would not release me, and I feared he would rip my light jacket. “Let me go.”
“No, Clarissa, I must speak with you. I am surprised you felt the need to have Colin protect you at school.”
“So it was you Colin saw,” I said with another angry twist of my arm.
“Yes, he prevented me from speaking with you in a civilized way.”
“If you wanted to act cultured, Cameron, you would call at my house. Although it wouldn’t matter. I have n
o desire to speak with you now or ever again.” I stomped down with the heel of my boot, crushing his toes. He cried out in pain, releasing my arm.
I spun toward the trolley that was just leaving the stop, grabbing onto the bar to pull myself onto the steps. I tripped but held onto the bar and landed with a thud on the trolley’s floor. I heaved myself to my feet, glancing back to see Cameron glaring at me. As the trolley moved away, I shivered, for the first time afraid of Cameron.
***
I SAT IN MY BEDROOM that evening, staring out the back window at the canopy of trees. A deep unease filled me as I thought of Cameron and his recent actions. I listened intently to the sounds of the house, hearing Colin and da’s booming voices as they returned from the smithy. Rising from my seat by the window, I tiptoed to my door, waiting for Colin to ascend the stairs and change for dinner.
“Colin,” I whispered. His head jerked up and he frowned to see me hiding in my room. He was covered in soot with blackened hands. However, he moved toward me and I opened the door allowing him to enter my room.
“I have to wash and dress for dinner. What’s the matter, Rissa?” He reached out as though he were going to stroke my arm, but then stopped when he realized he would leave a black smear on my dusky rose satin dress. Instead, he crossed his arms across his chest and frowned at me.
“I saw Cameron today.”
His eyes flashed with anger. “What did he want?”
“To speak with me,” I said, taking a deep breath to battle the panic I felt at remembering my interaction with Cameron. “I had to jump onto a departing trolley to evade him.”
“The bas-. Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?” His hands were now fisted at his sides.
“Yes, he gripped my arm, but I’m fine.”
Colin reached out and pushed my sleeve up. “You’ll have a bruise, Rissa.”
Banished Love Page 21
