A Question of Class

by Julia Tagan

  But right now Catherine had more pressing concerns. It was quite possible they’d missed their chance to snatch Sophie away, and the Allens had been alerted to her presence. But she’d also seen a dark look in Benjamin’s eyes when he’d fetched her, and it wasn’t all due to their plight. She’d given in to her desires and been satiated, but Benjamin had given no hint their coupling made any difference at all. Perhaps he’d viewed it as an inevitable part of their agreement. It didn’t appear to have softened him. If anything, he seemed even more distant than before.

  “We’re going to the Allens’,” he said. “There’s no time to waste. We need to get Sophie now.”

  Catherine agreed. There was no way they could wait until tomorrow to carry out their plan. She guided him up the side streets to the Allens’ house. She hoped Sophie would be home, and alone.

  He pulled up a few houses away. “You wait here, and I’ll go in the back door and find her.”

  “What if the Allens are inside?”

  “I’ll have to take my chances.”

  “No. I know my way around the house. It’ll be easier if I go. Besides, Sophie doesn’t know you and she may not trust you under the circumstances.”

  He gave her a look.

  “Don’t worry, I can handle it,” she said.

  She hurried out of the carriage, crept along some boxwoods on the edge of the property and cut over to the back door. Unlike the front of the house, with its gorgeous rosebushes and neatly swept front porch, the back yard was neglected and Catherine lifted her skirts to avoid the deep mud puddles. She remembered standing back here, out of view from the neighbors, hanging laundry or beating rugs for what seemed hours on end.

  She peered in the window of the back door. No sounds came from inside, so she entered. The house had a familiar, musty smell. Even on the brightest spring day, the house retained an odor of staleness and rot, as if the wooden beams and floors were dank with moisture. The odor brought miserable memories flooding back to Catherine. She knew every inch of this house, from the basement to the attic rooms at the top of the stairs, as she’d scrubbed and cleaned each surface and crevice over and over. But all her hard work had never removed the stench. She looked down at her hands. Morris had always hated her hands, as they were red and dry, and had preferred it when they were gloved. He’d made her ashamed, but now Catherine considered her hands a badge of honor, a remembrance of the suffering she’d gone through and how far she’d risen from this awful place.

  She tiptoed up the stairs to the attic and found her way to her old room. The door was ajar, and Sophie was sitting on a small stool, mending a stocking. She glanced up, surprised. Catherine ran and knelt down beside her.

  “We must be quiet, dear Sophie. We have to go now.”

  Sophie threw down her mending and hugged her. Catherine could feel her skinny bones through her shift. The first order of business once they were safe was to get some food into her and build up some padding on her tiny body.

  “What happened? I thought we were to meet at the bakery in the morning,” asked Sophie in a high voice. Her face was pale with worry. In the harsh light from the window it was apparent her sister had lost much of the silly sweetness she’d had as a young four-year-old, before Catherine had been sent off with Morris.

  “Someone recognized me. We have to go now, or we’ll lose our chance.”

  Sophie ran to the corner of the room and grabbed a small bag. She added the stockings to it, and then stared expectantly at Catherine.

  “That’s all you have?” asked Catherine.

  Sophie glanced around her at the bare room and nodded solemnly.

  Of course it was all she had. Sophie had probably never been given a toy or a doll once she’d turned from being a sweet baby into a servant girl who could be put to work.

  “Follow me,” said Catherine. “There’s a carriage waiting outside. Are the Allens home?”

  Sophie shook her head. “No. But Mrs. Allen will be back any minute now.” Her voice quaked with fear, and Catherine reached out and took her hand.

  “It’s all right, my love. We’ll be fine. Don’t be frightened.”

  They ran down the stairs. Catherine turned the corner into the kitchen and practically bowled over Mrs. Allen, who stood in the middle of the small room with her hands on her hips.

  Mrs. Allen was wearing a somber gray dress that matched her thinning hair. Time hadn’t been kind to the woman. She had a long face etched with deep lines, a short nose and a mouth that turned down into a permanent frown. Her sparse eyebrows made her dark eyes seem even more piercing in their sockets.

  “Why if it isn’t Miss Cathy, come back for a visit,” she said. “What a lovely surprise this is.”

  Sarcasm dripped from her voice. Catherine took a step back and placed Sophie behind her. Her heart beat hard in her chest, as if it were about to explode. She had five years to make up to Sophie for having left her in this morass, and she couldn’t turn cowardly now. But she hadn’t realized how difficult this would be.

  “I’m here to take my sister with me.” Catherine squared her shoulders.

  “Really now? I hear you’ve caused quite a stir in the big city,” said Mrs. Allen. “You got Delcour to marry you. Mr. Allen and I were quite surprised to hear that, I must say. You must’ve worked your magic on the man.”

  “We were married, yes.”

  “But as soon as I heard folks were asking around about Delcour’s pretty new wife from Bridgeport, I made sure they knew who you were.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “You thought you could get away with putting on airs, Cathy Bowen. You’re a servant girl. You came from a no-good drunk, as did your sister.”

  “Thank you for taking the time to clarify my family history, Mrs. Allen. And now, since you no longer appear to have use of Sophie, I’ll be taking her off your hands.”

  Mrs. Allen took a threatening step forward. “You’ll do no such thing. She’s been promised to Preacher Simmons. And I don’t go back on my promises.”

  “That’s not right. She’s only a little girl.”

  Mrs. Allen’s eyes narrowed. She studied Catherine closely. “Perhaps there’s a way.”

  “Tell me,” said Catherine.

  “Maybe you can have her. But you’ll have to pay for her. The girl’s a valuable commodity. Since you’re a lady of society now, that shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”

  Catherine’s heart sank. Between the cloaks, the food, the inn and the horses and carriage, she only had a few dollars left.

  “You want me to buy my own sister from you?”

  “It’s a business transaction, that’s all.”

  “Very well then, if that’s what it takes. I’ll have my husband send you money once we’re back in New York.”

  “Oh no, that won’t do at all,” said Mrs. Allen. She held out a bony hand. “You can give me fifty dollars now, or you can leave your sister with me. She’s such a pretty girl, such lovely hair. Like yours. But I didn’t realize when I took in a couple of orphans what I’d be getting into. No, you’ll have to pay me now if you want the girl.”

  “Look, my husband will send you the money. You know where to find him.”

  “Please, don’t pander to me,” said Mrs. Allen with a growl. “I did everything I could to keep you fed and dressed and you’ve done nothing in return. It’ll cost you a pretty sum to get that girl.”

  A noise at the front door drew Catherine’s attention. She hoped to see Benjamin’s face, but instead Mr. Allen and the preacher from the church stepped into the front parlor. Mr. Allen had aged in the past five years. His broad shoulders were stooped and he walked with a cane.

  Mrs. Allen pushed Catherine and Sophie into the parlor. “You’ll never guess who showed up. We have a visitor, Mr. Allen.”

  They were trapped, with Mrs. Allen standing in the doorway to the kitchen and the preacher and Mr. Allen blocking the route out the front. The preacher gaped at them.

  “And
what do we have here?” asked Mr. Allen.

  “Cathy came to steal Sophie away,” said Mrs. Allen. Her voice no longer dripped of irony, instead, she sounded ever so worried. Catherine stared at her in astonishment.

  “I told you she was back in town.” Mrs. Allen motioned to the preacher. “Here we’ve done everything we can to help this poor little girl, and now her fancy sister has come to take her away.”

  “I have every right to take my sister with me,” said Catherine.

  “No you do not,” said Mr. Allen. “We have a paper saying Sophie is our ward, signed by a judge.”

  Mrs. Allen nodded. “Apparently Catherine has been causing quite a scandal in New York. We would never allow our dear Sophie to fall into her devil sister’s hands. She takes after her father, unfortunately. Now Sophie, come to me.”

  Mrs. Allen gazed steadily at Sophie. When Sophie didn’t move, Mrs. Allen reached forward and grabbed her arm, yanking her over to stand next to her husband.

  Catherine went cold with fear. She was outnumbered, and somehow being back in this house turned all of her courage on its head, as if she were still a young girl. She wondered where Benjamin was, if he’d seen Mr. Allen and the preacher arrive.

  “Now you may leave, Cathy,” said Mr. Allen. “Go back to the city of sin and relinquish your sister. Unlike you, she’ll have a chance to redeem her soul.”

  Mr. Allen stroked Sophie’s hair with one hand. It was an unconscious move, one Catherine remembered feeling on her own head years ago. She knew exactly how his hand would eventually travel down Sophie’s back if the rest of them hadn’t been present. The memory jolted her, and her terror simmered into anger.

  She stared hard at Mr. Allen. She’d met Napoleon Bonaparte, and Josephine, and eaten in the finest restaurants in France. Yet here she was, cowed by a couple of uneducated, self-righteous people. They only frightened her because back then she’d been an innocent child. Looking at them now, with their severe expressions and dour faces, they were the epitome of everything she had left far, far behind her.

  “That’s enough, Mr. Allen.” Catherine took a step forward. “I’m tired of these games. I’ll be leaving with my sister now. And if you try to stop me, I’ll have you arrested.”

  “Sophie is leaving with Preacher Simmons tomorrow,” said Mr. Allen. “She’ll be working for the good preacher. It’s been agreed to, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “I would love to have Sophie stay, of course,” Mrs. Allen told the preacher, in a dulcet tone. “She’s a delight. But I don’t need the help anymore.”

  “She’ll be doing God’s work, right Preacher Simmons?” said Mr. Allen.

  “I, I’m sorry?” stuttered the preacher.

  Everyone stared at him. After his fiery sermon, Catherine expected a booming voice to erupt from the man. Instead, his speaking voice was high and reedy. He was around thirty years old, and possibly the plainest man she had ever seen. If she blinked, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to visualize his face, it was so unmemorable.

  “You’re the girl’s sister?” he stammered.

  “I am,” said Catherine. “And I’m not leaving without her. And I will not pay any money for her, either,” she added, looking in Mrs. Allen’s direction.

  “What money?” asked the preacher.

  “Don’t listen to her nonsense,” reassured Mrs. Allen. “No one said anything about money. Sophie wants to go work for you, Preacher Simmons, right my dear girl?”

  Sophie didn’t respond.

  “Answer me,” snapped Mrs. Allen. “You agreed to this. Tell the good preacher you’re going with him.”

  Catherine seethed with hatred for the woman, but she had to keep her head. The preacher appeared quite muddled by the whole situation. She guessed Mrs. Allen had never shown her true colors to the man. If Catherine could get her to do so, she might have a chance at convincing the preacher to let her go.

  Catherine rose to her full height and lifted her chin. “You mistreated both of us, Mrs. Allen, and you offered to sell my sister to me for fifty dollars. We’ll leave of our own accord, or I’ll tell everyone what games Mr. Allen likes to play with little girls.”

  Mr. Allen’s face faltered for a second. “You liar.”

  “Shush,” Mrs. Allen told him. She turned again to the preacher and softened her tone. “The girl’s telling tales, like she did when she was young. You can’t believe a word this one says. Can you see the predicament we’re in?”

  “Hold on for a moment, Mrs. Allen,” said the preacher. He glanced over at Catherine. “We had agreed Sophie would come and help my mother. She’s getting old, you see, and needs an extra hand these days. But I didn’t realize Sophie had family.”

  “She does, Preacher Simmons,” said Catherine. “And I’d like to take her with me.”

  “I see,” said the preacher. “Family, of course, is important. But how do I know you could provide Sophie with a stable home?”

  Mrs. Allen grinned triumphantly. Catherine realized what a mess she must look like. Her shoes and cloak were caked with mud, and her hair was wild from the wind and rain.

  “Money isn’t everything,” said the preacher. “If there isn’t a God-fearing man in the household.”

  “The girl’s husband is French,” said Mrs. Allen with great finality.

  Preacher Simmons pursed his mouth. “French. I see. That’s a shame.”

  Catherine wouldn’t be able to win the man over with reason. Where was Benjamin? She’d hoped he’d be here by now.

  “I’m not going with him.”

  The quiet voice came from Sophie.

  “My dear,” said Mrs. Allen, “you’re too young to know what’s good for you.”

  “I’m leaving with my sister. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Catherine stared at Sophie. Pride welled in her heart. The girl was tougher than she appeared.

  Mr. Allen raised his cane high in the air, and brought it down with a thwack within inches of Sophie’s head. Catherine could tell from Sophie’s quick reflex this wasn’t the first time he had used his cane in this manner.

  He lifted his cane again, but this time Sophie gave him a kick to the leg before he could bring it down. Catherine ran forward and grabbed his wrist, yanking the cane out of his hand. He fell to the ground, and the preacher, trying to help, fell back with him. Catherine and Sophie stood close together and Catherine whipped the cane in the air around them.

  Mrs. Allen blocked their access to the front door. “We’ll have the magistrates imprison you for that.”

  “Back door,” yelled Sophie.

  Catherine turned on her heel and followed her sister through the kitchen and out the way she’d come in, dropping the cane as she ran. Mrs. Allen screamed but couldn’t keep up, and Catherine slammed the door behind them. They careened around to the front of the house. The carriage was still there, but a group of young men with rocks and sticks surrounded the horses. Benjamin stood at the horses’ noses, brandishing a whip and protecting them from the gang.

  Catherine called out Benjamin’s name, and saw relief sweep over his face.

  “Let’s go,” she yelled, as she lifted Sophie up into the carriage and grabbed the reins.

  The gang closed in as Benjamin scrambled into the carriage. He snapped his whip and Catherine urged the horses forward.

  “I couldn’t get inside,” he said. His face was streaked with sweat. “The innkeeper must’ve sent out his gang to find us after we left.”

  “We made it out, we’re fine,” said Catherine.

  Catherine saw the preacher and Mr. and Mrs. Allen run into the front yard.

  “I’ll ruin your reputation,” sputtered Mr. Allen. “You’ll be known as a disgrace.”

  “It’s too late for that.” Catherine gave her sister a quick smile and they drove off, leaving the town of Bridgeport far behind them.

  14

  Benjamin felt a nudge in his ribs soon after the carriage crossed the state
border. Catherine nodded over at her sister, who lay curled up in the corner of the carriage, lulled to sleep by the swaying movement and the horses’ rhythmic steps.

  “She must be exhausted, poor girl,” she said.

  He watched the girl’s gentle breathing and turned his attention back to the road. They’d galloped for miles and so far there was no sign of pursuit, but he kept the horses at a brisk trot just in case. “You left quite an impression on that town.”

  “I’m sure they all believed I was putting on airs. Staying at the inn, being seen around town with a man not my husband. Once the word got out, there was no stopping their wrath. But now that’s done with, I’ll get you what you want.”

  The words hung in the air between them. Benjamin knew in his heart Catherine would make good on her promise to give him the documents that would expose Delcour. But after that, he wasn’t sure where he’d be or what he’d do. He was no longer convinced bringing Delcour down would satisfy him. Making love to Catherine, now that would satisfy him, and he wished he could kiss her, or put his arm around her. But she would have to make her own way after this. Benjamin had no way of taking care of her, or her sister, and he’d already broken his promise to Dolly once. He would stay clear of Catherine as soon as they were done with their business together. He had already gotten far too involved.

  “What will you do once we’ve returned?” he asked her.

  “I could find work in a mustard shop, non?”

  Benjamin smiled. “Oui. I’m sure you could.”

  She turned to face him. “You did more than work for a mustard merchant in France, I’m fairly certain of that. Tell me the truth.”

  Benjamin tried to look shocked. “Are you saying I lied?”

  “Yes. And you can dance. You were lying about that.”

  “But I was awful at dancing.”

  “You were awful when you were trying to be awful. But when we were engaged in conversation, you couldn’t help yourself and you were quite graceful.”