by Marie Silk
“He did not say anything,” she replied with a smile, “but I can see it in his eyes. He said that you deserved better treatment than what Nora shows you in the servants’ quarters. Are you happy being a housemaid here?”
“I’m grateful to have a job, Miss Abigail,” she answered carefully.
“Ethan and I intend to move back to Philadelphia after the baby’s christening. We will need a new housekeeper. I wondered if you would consider the position.”
Fiona’s eyes were wide. “You are generous, Miss Abigail. Thank you.”
“I know it will be a drastic transition, so take your time to think about it and let me know when you have your answer.”
Fiona nodded, then left the room quietly. Abigail changed into her nightclothes and lay in bed, consumed with thoughts about how she was going to tell Clara or anyone else about Serena.
In the servants’ quarters, Jane returned to the kitchen with the tray of chicken salad for Clara. “Why have you brought that back here?” demanded Nora.
Jane flinched at Nora’s tone. “Miss Clara said she was not in the mood for salad. She is asking for hot soup and cornbread.”
Nora scowled as she served another bowl of soup from the pot that was still hot on the stove. Mrs. Malone snickered from the corner of the room as Nora clattered about the kitchen to make a new dinner tray.
Fiona had completed her duties for the day and hung her apron on a hook in the servants’ lobby. She then quietly left through the back door and headed to the stable.
Sam was about to retire to bed when Fiona knocked on the door of his apartment. “Hello,” he greeted her.
Fiona looked into his eyes worriedly. “I’m sorry about what I said to you before—about having anything to do with what happened to Mr. Collins. I know you couldn’t have done such a thing.”
“It’s alright,” he shrugged. “I figured you were upset about your sister and didn’t really mean it.”
Fiona swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’ve been afraid to ask what you meant when you said that I should ask her about what really happened that night. Do you think she was involved?”
“I don’t know what happened that night, Fiona. I thought I heard something outside, and I looked out my window just in time to see Bridget running back to the house. I didn’t want to get either of you in trouble, so I didn’t say anything about it. She didn’t tell you what she was doing out here?”
“No, she did not,” Fiona answered with a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid. I don’t know what to think!”
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I don’t know what to think either.”
Fiona changed the subject. “Your sister has been generous to me. She is making it possible for me to be a housekeeper again.”
Sam smiled proudly. “I knew Abby could talk some sense into Miss Clara. That Nora is a tyrant. There’s no way she’s a better housekeeper than you.”
Fiona hesitated. “I’m not going to be housekeeper of Davenport House anymore. Miss Abigail has offered me a position at the manor house when she returns to Philadelphia.”
Sam looked distraught. “You’re going with Abby to Philadelphia?”
“Well I think it would be ungrateful for me to turn it down. Your sister is so kind to me, and I suppose I have you to thank as well. She mentioned that you asked her to help me.”
“I suppose I did,” he mumbled, looking at the floor.
“I should get back to the house now. Thank you for your help. Goodnight, Sam.”
“Goodnight.”
Chapter 9
“Good morning, Madam,” Nora greeted as she entered Clara’s bedroom. “Look, our kind neighbor has brought these carnations for the parlor.”
“Which neighbor?” Clara asked quickly.
“Mr. Blake.”
Clara felt her heartbeat quicken. “Is he downstairs?”
“No, Madam. I told him you were in mourning and did not wish to visit with anyone.”
“You should have spoken to me before giving such a message!”
Nora winced at Clara’s reaction. “Forgive me, Mrs. Collins—do you wish to see Mr. Blake?”
“Actually, I do. Go run after him and bring him back to the house.”
Nora looked at Clara with wide eyes, wondering if she meant it, but was not going to wait around to find out. She blurted, “As you wish, Madam,” and hurried downstairs. Nora left through the back door where she was more likely to catch up with Joe Blake returning to his property. “Mr. Blake!” she called breathlessly.
Joe turned around, surprised to see the same maid who had just turned him away from the house. “Yes?”
“It’s Mrs. Collins,” she sputtered. “My Mistress wishes to see you after all. If you’ll just follow me back into the house…”
Joe was bewildered, but replied, “Ah yes, thank you.”
Clara checked her appearance in the mirror before going downstairs to meet with Joe. He was waiting in the drawing room when Clara entered. “Good morning, Mr. Blake,” she greeted. “Please sit down.”
“ ‘Morning, Mrs. Collins,” he replied. Nora walked in with a tray just then.
“I thought you might like some tea, Madam,” she said, pouring the tea carefully into cups and placing them on saucers. The room was silent while Nora served the tea to Clara and Joe.
“Thank you for the carnations, Mr. Blake,” Clara said.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Collins.”
Nora stood in the room and watched them both. Clara looked at her impatiently. “That will be all, Nora,” she finally said.
“Oh—very good, Madam,” Nora replied, picking up the tray and turning to leave the room.
Clara and Joe watched her leave. When Nora was well out of earshot, Joe whispered, “Clara, are you alright?”
“No, I’m not alright!” she answered frantically. “The police are coming to question me today. I’m afraid they will suspect me!”
“Tell them the truth, Clara. I’ll back you up.”
“How can I? It will make me look guilty for certain!”
Joe went silent while he remembered the night’s events.
Clara looked at him worriedly. “Tell me it wasn’t you who did it, Joe.”
“It wasn’t me!” he cried defensively, still attempting to keep his voice in a whisper. “You really don’t know who might have done it?”
“No, and I didn’t realize anything had happened to Lawrence until the next morning. I never even knew he had come home! Could there be a killer in this very house?” She covered her face with her hands. “I haven’t slept in days!”
Clara jumped at the sudden ringing of the telephone. She and Joe were silent as they waited for the caller to be announced. Nora entered the room solemnly. “Telephone for you, Mrs. Collins. It is Chief Reynolds.”
Clara’s face went white. “I’ll be right there,” she whispered. Nora nodded and left the room. Clara stood up and held onto the sofa for support. “Oh Joe, I don’t think I can walk to the library.”
He came alongside her. “I’ll help you. Just tell the truth, Clara. It might feel bad at first but it’s better than lying to the police about something this serious.”
She nodded weakly and held onto him as they made their way into the library. Joe helped her into the chair near the telephone and Clara trembled as she picked up the receiver. She motioned for Joe to listen with her. “Clara Collins speaking.”
“Mrs. Collins, it’s Chief Reynolds. I’m calling to say that we have a suspect in custody.”
“You do?” she squeaked into the receiver. “Who is it?”
“I can only say that, at this time, we have a suspect who has confessed to the crime. We have many questions, of course, but we will not be coming to your home today after all.”
Clara tried to catch her breath. “Alright, Chief,” she said, her voice shaking. “Thank you for your call.”
“I’ll contact you again once we have more information,” he continued.
“Very
good. Goodbye, Sir.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Collins.”
Joe looked at her in concern. “Do you feel better now?”
She breathed in relief. “Yes, I suppose I do. I can’t wait for this all to be over!”
“I should be going now,” he said, hesitating.
Clara swallowed her disappointment over him leaving. “Thank you for coming this morning.”
“Of course. I hope the days get easier for you.” He left Clara alone in the library and returned to his cottage on the neighboring estate.
Upstairs in Abigail’s room, Sam was showing her the contract from Lawrence. “I need to get this straightened out with Miss Clara,” he said urgently.
Abigail shook her head as she read the contract. “What a horrible man to have tricked you this way,” she said about Lawrence. “I only worry that now is not a good time to speak with Clara. The police are coming to question us today, and it is tense for everyone. Do you suppose you could at least wait until after the funeral to talk to Clara about this?”
“Talk to me about what?” Clara said from the doorway.
Abigail turned to face her. “Oh, it’s just that Sam wants to speak with you about the parcel of land he bought…but I wonder if he should wait for a better time.”
“It’s fine,” Clara answered. “The police are not coming today after all. It’s what I have come to tell you. They have a suspect in custody at the station.”
Abigail raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Did they say who?”
Clara shook her head. “I’m just hoping we can put this whole investigation behind us so we may move on with our lives. Now Sam, what did you need to speak to me about?”
Sam showed her the contract. “This is what Mr. Collins told me to sign, but he made me think it was the deed that you had drawn up for me.”
Clara became more angry with each word of the contract she read, and she tore the paper into pieces in front of him. “The land is yours, Sam. You may disregard anything that Lawrence might have told you. I will have the surveyor draw up another deed. Don’t you worry about any of this.”
Sam heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mrs. Collins.” He left the room and Clara took a seat at Abigail’s tea table.
Clara then blurted what she was thinking. “The more I find out about Lawrence, the more I despise him. How is a wife supposed to plan a funeral for a husband she hates?”
Abigail cringed and did not know how to answer.
Clara became apologetic. “You must think me a terrible wife for saying such a thing.”
“I know you tried to be a good wife, Clara. Please don’t blame yourself.” Abigail thought carefully before she continued. “If there was more to be said about Lawrence and his dishonorable nature…would you want to hear about it?”
Clara shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. He must have been involved in something objectionable in order to lie to me about a sick mother. I found out that she died ages ago. Lord only knows what Lawrence was up to renting that room in Pittsburgh.”
Abigail looked down at her lap while Clara spoke. She wondered if she should have said anything at all.
“Abigail,” Clara said, looking at her curiously. “Do you know something about Lawrence that I don’t?”
“I’m afraid so,” she answered quietly. “But I don’t want to hurt you more than you are hurting already.”
“I never told you or Mary, but the truth is, I considered a divorce from Lawrence. I’ve felt terribly guilty for thinking that way, ever since he died. If you have anything to tell me now, perhaps it will not hurt so much as lessen this guilt I feel over wanting to be rid of him.”
It was all the answer that Abigail needed. “Then I will tell you what I do know of him, but I must warn you that it is terribly unpleasant. I don’t imagine you will feel much guilt after you hear what I have to say.”
“Go on,” Clara prodded her.
“Are you aware that Lawrence had a child with another woman?”
Clara’s mouth hung open in shock. When she recovered enough to speak, she cried, “Of course I did not know! How did you find out?”
“I only learned of it yesterday, when I visited Serena Valenti. She has given me permission to speak of it now. I was aware that she had a child several years ago, but I never knew who the father was until now. Lawrence abandoned her as soon as he learned of the pregnancy.”
Clara put her hand over her heart. “Serena Valenti? Good heavens! So that’s why Lawrence treated her abominably when I introduced the two of them! He forbade me to have anything to do with the Valentis, but he made it sound like it was because they are Italian! I feel so angry right now!” She stopped to take deep breaths. “But I’m glad you told me. It’s probably what Bridget came to the house to tell me that night. I still feel badly for sending her away. I suppose that hearing her out would have been better than never knowing the truth about Lawrence.”
“But that was another matter entirely,” Abigail said gently.
Clara was aghast. “You mean there is more?”
Abigail was about to speak, but Ethan entered the room just then, holding a newspaper in his arm. “Is Mary alright?” he asked in concern. “I didn’t see her come down for breakfast.”
“She must still be in her room,” Clara answered.
“Ethan, will you check on her and make sure that she eats? I promised William,” Abigail told him with urgency.
“Sure I will,” he said, although he seemed hesitant. “Mary doesn’t seem herself lately. I think something is bothering her.”
“She hasn’t seen William in months,” Abigail replied sadly. “And she’s been working so very hard.”
“With any luck, she won’t have to work like this for much longer.” Ethan said, giving the newspaper to Abigail. She and Clara read the headline together while Ethan left to check on Mary.
Yorktown’s Most Capable Midwife Returns!
Greta Jenkins was the county’s beloved midwife before a jealous doctor schemed to end her practice. The conniving former doctor of Yorktown(who currently awaits trial for his other schemes) spread false rumors about Miss Jenkins, effectively ending her services as a midwife. It is now confirmed that Miss Jenkins was falsely accused all along and she is once more offering her midwifery services to expecting mothers throughout the county. We welcome Miss Jenkins back with open arms as Yorktown’s most capable midwife.
The Yorktown Times wishes to thank Dr. William Hamilton for bringing this story to our attention, and for his hearty recommendation for Miss Jenkins as the town’s most capable midwife!
Abigail cringed. “I know that William was only trying to help, but I’m afraid this article does not show favorably upon Mary at all.”
“Mary needs rest more than anything else,” Clara remarked. “You know that nothing ever seems to print right in the paper.”
Ethan entered the bedroom again. “Mary is still sleeping. I asked Fiona to take her a breakfast tray.” He noticed that Abigail seemed weary as she finished nursing the baby and held him to her shoulder. “Do you want me to take him?”
“Yes, please,” she said, holding out the baby for Ethan.
“We’ll go out to the stable to see the horses so you ladies can talk.” Ethan gathered some blankets from the bureau and headed out the bedroom door.
“Abigail, you were about to tell me something when Ethan came in with the paper,” Clara reminded her.
“Oh that,” she grimaced. “Bridget came to my room the night of the ball to tell me what she learned about Lawrence. Apparently, before he married you, he had an awful plan that he thought might trick me into being with him! Lawrence knew that my husband was sent to fight in the War, and Lawrence schemed to have me falsely notified of Ethan’s death!”
Clara gasped in horror. “Oh no! Abigail—I’m so sorry! What a wretched thing for anyone to do!” She rose from her seat and crossed her arms angrily over her chest. “I cannot believe I brought such a wicked person into this house!
And now I want to die at the thought of him being buried in the family cemetery, near my mother or father. He deserves no such honor! I don’t know how I will consent to it when the ground is ready!”
Mary appeared in the doorway just then. “I’m off to check on Mrs. Gerald,” she notified them quietly. “I wanted to see that you two are alright first.”
Clara managed a smile. “Mary, we are the ones who are concerned for you. Did you eat your breakfast at least?”
“I did,” she answered, and looked in the empty cradle. “Where is my nephew?”
“Ethan took him out to see the horses,” Abigail explained.
“Then I will be sure to kiss him goodbye before I leave,” Mary said, stifling a yawn.
“Wait, Mary—I should tell you that the police have called. They have a suspect in custody,” Clara said.
“Then I hope that justice is served swiftly for your sake, Clara. I’m sorry I cannot be of more help to you in your time of grief.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, dear. But when you do have a moment to talk, I would like to speak to you about all that has happened lately. For now, just take care of yourself.”
Mary nodded. “Thank you, Clara. Good day to the both of you.”
After Mary left, Clara turned to Abigail. “You look weary, yourself. I’ll leave you to rest now.”
Clara left the room, and Abigail lay back in her bed and closed her eyes. She opened them a short while later to see Ethan returning with the baby. He smiled apologetically. “Patrick is ready for you.”
“Thank you,” she replied sleepily. “How did he like the horses?”
Ethan smiled. “I can’t wait to get him one someday. I’ll tell him all about the time before automobiles and how we used to get around using only horses.”
Abigail giggled about it and proceeded to nurse the baby for a few quiet moments while Ethan sat nearby.
Fiona came to the door shortly after. “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Abigail. I was just so worried all of a sudden and didn’t know who else to ask.”
Abigail looked up in concern. “What is it?”
