“Oh,” was all she could say as she stared back at her reflection.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” Miss Sands said. “What is your name?”
Her first instinct was not to trust this stranger, not to give any information that could somehow be used to further damager her place in this household. But as she cautiously met the actress’s gaze she wondered if perhaps she could indeed trust Miss Sands with something as innocuous as her name. After all, what more did she have to lose?
“I’m Sophie Darshaw, miss,” she said.
The actress smiled. “Well, Sophie, you look like an honest girl. I can’t imagine there’s anything you could have done to deserve such treatment that would leave you like this.”
“He would clearly disagree.” Sophie wasn’t quite able to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“And who is he?” the actress asked gently. “Your husband?”
Sophie was only too happy to set her straight. “No, thankfully he’s nothing more than my employer.”
“But surely that doesn’t give him the right to do this!”
“At least this is all he did,” Sophie assured her. “I know how to handle his likes, Miss Sands.”
“And just look how he handled you,” the actress replied. “You don’t need to suffer this, Sophie. No position is worth it. You simply must leave his service.”
“Leave? To go live on the streets?” Sophie shook her head, one unruly lock of her disobedient honey-colored hair bouncing loose of the prim cap where she’d tried so hard to tuck it. “No, I know all too well what leaving would bring, miss. Trust me, I’m better off here.”
“Surely there is somewhere you can go?”
“With no references?” Sophie shook her head. “No, miss. And I assure you, Mr. Fitzgelder is not likely to authorize a reference.”
Oddly enough, this statement seemed to have quite the effect on Miss Sands. Her eyes grew suddenly huge and her face paled as if she feared a dragon might suddenly leap out and eat them. Sophie wondered if the woman wasn’t going a bit overboard with her outpouring of sympathy.
“Did you . . . Did you say Mr. Fitzgelder?”
Sophie nodded. “Yes, miss. He is my master.”
The actress appeared as if she were going to be ill.
“I’m sorry,” Sophie stammered quickly. “Did I, er, did I say something wrong?”
“Your master is called Fitzgelder? But surely not Mr. Cedrick Fitzgelder, is it?”
Sophie nodded. “Yes, miss. The very same. Do you know him?”
Miss Sands didn’t answer. By her nervous hand wringing and the way her brown eyes darted around frantically, she didn’t need to. Yes, Miss Sands obviously knew Sophie’s master. Apparently her dealings with him had been as pleasant as Sophie’s.
Without warning the actress grasped Sophie by the hand and was pulling her toward the other side of the room, toward the doorway that led out of the salon at the rear of the house. Deciding it might be best to find out what this was about, Sophie went along. They made it to the doorway just as an older gentleman carrying a crate came through it. Miss Sands nearly plowed into him.
Good naturedly, he urged the young actress to be careful. What caught Sophie’s attention, though, was that he did it in French. Such a simple thing, yet her soul reacted. The dull pain of loss throbbed to life, catching her off guard by its force, even after all this time being dormant. How silly that words from a stranger could evoke so much of the past!
She carefully pushed old, best-forgotten feelings back into that dark corner of her heart. Her life today had no room for such memories. Things were as they were and she’d do well to keep her mind on today’s troubles, not useless memories of things dead and buried.
Miss Sands was breathlessly informing the man—also in French—what she had learned from Sophie. He appeared similarly affected when Fitzgelder’s name was mentioned. He scanned the room, then hurried them into a corner where they could duck behind a screened wall that had been erected for concealing musicians during an entertainment. He lowered his voice and rattled a string of questions. Was Miss Sands certain it was him? Had he seen her? What else did she know?
Without bothering to answer him, Miss Sands responded with a barrage of her own questions for the man. What could he have been thinking when he scheduled this performance? Did he not realize this was London and they should have been more careful? What did he suggest they do now?
From what Sophie could gather from their hurried, harried conversation, the gentleman insisted he had been careful. He was quite certain Mr. Fitzgelder’s name had not come up when arrangements were made for this event. In fact, it appeared he thought he’d been hired by a man named Smith.
Then he noticed her. Miss Sands gave him her first name and explained—tactfully—the reason for Sophie’s lamentable bruising. The man’s distress was even more pronounced. He swore.
“And you’ve believed her story?” he asked gruffly, still in his elegant French.
Well, that was far from the sympathy she’d hoped for!
“Of course I believe her,” Miss Sands replied. “Just look at her.”
“You trusted her, just because of a little bruising?”
The man was eyeing Sophie with a dark suspicion. She didn’t much care for the intensity of this scrutiny. What exactly did he think she had done?
“I haven’t told her anything,” Miss Sands went on, also in a very cultured French. Sophie got the idea they had no clue she could understand them.
“Good. Fitzgelder could be using her to get information,” the man said.
What? But that was ridiculous. Whatever could they be talking about? She knew nothing about any information. She wasted no time setting things straight. In French.
“Mr. Fitzgelder certainly was not interested in me for information, monsieur.”
They seemed surprised.
“You are French?” the gentleman asked.
“My father was French,” Sophie responded. “But Mrs. Harwell scolds me if I do not speak English.”
“So you understood our conversation,” Miss Sands said.
Sophie shook her head. “Not in the least.”
“Don’t lie to us,” the man said, leaning over her so that she was forced to take a step back. “Did Mr. Fitzgelder send you to find out about us?”
“Find out about you? Heavens, if that was all Mr. Fitzgelder asked of me I would not be wearing this,” Sophie replied, touching her swollen eyelid. “Besides, you’re in his home. He must know about you already, I would think.”
“What did he tell you of us?” the man demanded.
“But he did not mention you at all! I came to you hoping to avoid him.”
The gentleman did not seem entirely convinced. “You had no other reason to ingratiate yourself with my daughter?”
So this was his daughter, was it? No wonder he was concerned. Any father with a pretty young daughter who suddenly found himself in Mr. Fitzgelder’s home had good reason to be concerned.
Sophie swallowed and forced herself to meet his flashing eyes as she replied. “Well, I had thought perhaps if I took extra care, Miss Sands might give me a reference so I could find a position elsewhere.”
“See, Papa?” the actress announced. “Surely you can’t believe she would ever help Fitzgelder. Look at her! We ought to go while we can and take her with us.”
The man frowned, this thick brows nearly touching above his prominent nose. “But if we leave, that will only alert Fitzgelder that something is not right. No, we must think this through first.”
“It’s too dangerous. We must go now!”
“If we go he’ll only follow. No, I must think of something else.”
They argued a bit and Sophie felt as if she really ought not be privy to their conversation. Clearly these people had some great, dark reason to fear her master and it did appear as if Mr. Fitzgelder must have lured them here intentionally. She felt sorry for them, of course, but at the same ti
me she couldn’t help but realize things would go especially bad for her if she were discovered in their company.
She tried to excuse herself.
“But you cannot go back to work for that monster!” Miss Sands suddenly protested, grabbing at her hand to keep her hidden with them there.
Suddenly Sophie was inclined to agree. She’d barely poked her head out from around the screened wall and quickly ducked back in. He was here.
Miss Sands’s father noticed and leaned forward to peer through the openings in the screen. Miss Sands did the same, her breath catching in a way that Sophie could truly not find surprising. Women often did that upon sight of the tall, impeccably dressed gentleman and his arguably perfect features.
“Is that him?” she asked with a mix of awe and astonishment. “Is that Fitzgelder?”
Sophie had to stifle a laugh. As if there could be any comparison!
“No, it’s someone else,” her father replied. “I don’t know him.”
“Lindley,” Sophie informed them. “His name is Lindley.”
“The earl?”
Sophie nodded.
“We are in trouble, then,” the actor said.
Sophie joined Miss Sands in sending him a curious glance. He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair and sighed. Could these people have something against Lindley, too? Sophie watched intently as a careful determination stole over the older man’s face.
“Papa, who is this Lindley? What does he have to do with us?”
“Nothing, ma chou-chou. He is merely a friend of Fitzgelder’s. But this tells me what I must do.”
“It does?”
“Indeed. I must leave.”
“No, Papa. We must leave. Together.”
He shook his head. “No, people must merely think we’ve left together. Remember, ma belle, he’s never seen you. You must stay here where you will be safe.”
“Safe? Here? You cannot be serious, Papa!” Miss Sands protested.
Sophie voiced her agreement. “Beg pardon, monsieur, but Mr. Fitzgelder will surely take notice of Miss Sands, even if he does not know her. I cannot think she’ll be safe here!”
The actor simply smiled at them. “She will if she gives the performance of her lifetime.”
Damsel in Disguise Page 38
