by Kellyn Roth
“It seems odd how pleasant you are, Miss Berck, given—” Mrs. Maston pouted. “Oh, I am sorry.”
Claire hesitated and narrowed her eyes. “What was that, Mrs. Maston?”
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to mention it. You’re my regular dressmaker, and I do love your work …” Yet, the trail of her voice indicated that she did indeed want to mention it.
Claire sighed and ignored the heavy feeling in her chest. “Please tell me whatever it is you have to say.”
Mrs. Maston tossed her arms up in half-hearted surrender. “Oh, very well. It’s only that lately there have been such rumors about you, Miss Berck, that I don’t know what to think! Mr. Steven Parker, a former rake, has visited your home multiple times. There have been some unseemly rumors about your relations to a Mr. Charles Chattoway—a respected man of the community, but no less scandalous given your respective backgrounds. And no one really does know where you’ve come from …”
Claire smiled through the pain in her heart. It had finally caught up to her. Would there be an easy way around it? Or would this be the final straw that broke the camel’s back? Was she to lose her position, her livelihood, her ability to provide for her children?
Her children? Would she lose her children, heaven forbid?
Oh, I can’t, Lord.
Another prayer she hadn’t planned. But she determined to be calm and suave. Mrs. Maston had only rumors and knew nothing of her children. That would be enough.
“Oh goodness, what horrid rumors.” Claire shook her head. “Terrible that people would say such things! Why, can you imagine?”
A bit crestfallen, Mrs. Maston nodded. “Indeed.”
“Of course, a respected woman like you realizes it can’t be true, but will others?” Claire ran a hand over her face as if distressed. “Oh dear. I’m only a seamstress, really. I don’t even know such people as … was it Mr. Chatt …?”
“Chattoway. I suppose you wouldn’t.” Mrs. Maston cocked her head. “But wasn’t Mr. Parker’s carriage seen …?”
Stupid, indiscreet man. “I hardly know! I wouldn’t recognize his carriage if I saw it. I’ve never heard of the man.”
Mrs. Maston seemed only partially satisfied with this denial, but she fluffed her hair and whirled toward the door. “Thank you for helping me choose a wondrous dress once again, Miss Berck. Oh, one more thing?”
Claire turned back from the counter. “Yes?”
“Do you perhaps have a sweet little niece? Seven or eight, with dark hair?” Mrs. Maston’s eyes were narrowed, and Claire knew she’d been sent in deliberately to fish out a scandal. To find out what was really happening. To seek and twist someone’s life … and then report it to her friends.
Let it seep about London through her friends’ servants.
Let Claire’s reputation at last collapse into nothing. The fragile, fake reputation she’d built around her skill and with her steady wits. All gone.
Some might call it an extreme assessment, but Claire knew London. She knew the rich and the mighty. They were just looking for another life to destroy, another innocent to ruin, another world to collapse.
And then they would watch and judge, peering through their opera glasses at the fire like Nero at his maddest. Gossiping about the downfall.
But she must respond—and quickly, easily. “Why do you ask, Mrs. Maston?”
“Because often was observed a few months ago a small child of that description entering and exiting your house through the back way.” Mrs. Maston smiled, too sweet for Claire. “Of course, I have heard this through my maid … who heard it from others. It’s becoming a well-known fact. And now, apparently, according to some, the Knights of Pearlbelle Park have a small ward staying with them, who again matches that same description. And we all know the Knights are cousins to Mr. Parker.” Another slow, cruel smirk. “You can imagine my confusion and that of my friends, who are also your clients.”
Claire blinked. “How strange. Perhaps our cinder girl has taken her child into our house and left with her on occasion? As for the Knights of Pearlbelle Park, I know nothing of them or of Mr. Parker, as I stated before.” She shrugged lightly. “I hate to disappoint you, Mrs. Maston, but I have no story. I was born in London, the daughter of poor parents, like myself. My father was also a seamster before his passing. I live alone, save a few servants.” She sighed. “It’s a lonely life but a good one nonetheless. I work for all I have.”
Mrs. Maston huffed. “Do you expect me to believe that there was really nothing going on?”
“It’s your choice what you believe, ma’am. I can only offer honesty to you as what it is—truth. Beyond that is your decision.”
Mrs. Maston crossed her arms. “Send word as always when the dress is ready for fitting. This could be the last dress I order with you if rumors prove true.”
“They will not.” Claire tried to force confidence into her tone, her posture. She held open the door. “Thank you again for your illustrious business, ma’am.”
Mrs. Maston shuffled out the door to her waiting carriage, and Claire tried not to cry or scream or throw herself into the glass case in hope of breaking both it and herself.
She had to get the children safe. Away from Pearlbelle, away from London … and she had to avoid all further contact with her brother, the Knights, or Mr. Parker.
But how?
“Alice, Ivy, look, it’s a letter from your mother.” Nettie held up a sheet of paper. “Come over here and let me tell you about it.”
A bit miffed that she hadn’t been allowed to open and read it herself, Alice ran forward and reached for the message.
“No, it’s not for little girls, Miss Grace.” Nettie folded the letter and slipped it into the pocket of her dress. “Ivy, let me comb out your hair, dearest. I haven’t gotten to take care of you yet this morning, have I? And we’ll have breakfast in a moment …”
“The letter, Nettie?” Alice wanted to be patient, but it was so hard when everyone around her was slow as turtles.
“Oh, yes. We’re going home now! Isn’t that wonderful? We’ll probably take the first train tomorrow …”
Alice’s mouth dropped open. Going home? First train tomorrow? This was insanity! “But I thought we were staying at Pearlbelle almost all summer.”
“I thought so, too, but Mummy says it’s time to come home now.” Nettie smiled brightly. “Now, who wants to help me pack?”
“I do,” said Ivy.
But Alice didn’t want to help pack at all. She wanted to never let anyone pack, because she never wanted to ever leave Pearlbelle Park. It was so beautiful here! She had a pony and a puppy—sort of—and a best friend, and she’d started to like Mr. Parker and Miss Elton and Mrs. Knight … she loved Mrs. Knight. Even Mr. Knight had started to grow on her.
And now they were leaving? And who knows when they’d be coming back!
This wasn’t to be borne.
Her throat felt tight and scratchy as she dressed for the day. She barely touched her breakfast, leading to Nettie’s asking if she were all right.
She wasn’t all right, and she almost told Nettie so, but there wasn’t much she could do. Alice did love and want her Mummy, only … it would be better if they could all live here. London was dreadful and smelly. She didn’t want to go back there.
At last, she was allowed to leave the table, and she ran all the way to the stables. After a brief search, she found Kirk taking a horse out to exercise. She watched without a word as he exercised Acacia.
When he returned the mare to her stall and rubbed her down, Alice still remained silent—and eventually Kirk had to ask why.
Or rather he asked, “What’s eating you?”
“What?”
He shrugged and flicked at Acacia’s coat. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s not good news.” She patted the mare’s nose, then brought her big head down for an on-tiptoes, rather awkward hug.
“Spit it out, then. We can’t have bad news inside us forev
er.” He dropped the brushes in a bucket and leaned against the stall door, effectively blocking her exit. “Go on and tell me.”
Alice swallowed. It was more difficult getting the hated words out than she’d imagined. Life was too unfair. She’d come to think of Kirk as a combination of brother and future-prince-maybe, and she didn’t want to give that up and go home to London. Especially the brother part—as far as she was concerned, princes were optional.
He grinned, probably amused by her facial expression. “Just say it.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m going to! It’s just that I’m going back to London, and we’re not coming back soon, so I might not see you again.”
“Oh, is that all?” He picked up the pail and walked toward the tack room.
Scowling, Alice ran after him. “All? We’re friends, aren’t we, Kirk? I’m your best friend, aren’t I?”
Kirk shrugged and dropped the bucket on the floor. “I suppose. A bit. But that don’t mean nothing. You’re just a girl.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “And you’re just a boy, but I like you anyway.”
Kirk’s eyes flickered up and down her. “I suppose if I had to be with a girl all the time, might as well be one who likes horses and dogs and playing in creeks. But, you know, that don’t mean you’re special.” He raised his chin. “Don’t want you getting prideful.”
Alice scowled. “Doesn’t—the first time, I mean—and I am special, but so are you.”
He crossed his arms. “I’m not special!”
“You are, too! Anyway, I don’t care what you think about yourself or me, because I think you’re a good friend. And I love Opie, too—though he’s nicer than you’ll ever be.” To prove her point, she marched down the path between the stables to the room where Opie was tied up and let him out.
The spaniel jumped up and began licking her face.
At least someone cared. She clung to his matted fur and enjoyed the warm puppyness of him.
From somewhere deep inside her came tears, over Kirk’s continual boy brusqueness and already missing her pony and feeling disloyal to Mummy and wanting to get to know Mr. Knight and Mr. Parker better …
Everything crashed down, and Alice cried.
“I mean … you don’t have to … to cry about it.”
Alice jumped up and swiftly wiped the tears from her eyes. “I-I wasn’t c-crying.” Of course, she realized that her thick, shaky voice was tear-filled, but she wouldn’t admit that to him.
Kirk stepped forward, then stepped back. “I’m sorry. Don’t know how to talk to you. Funny, ’cause I mostly spend time with girls—Mum and Lizzy. But, you know, I don’t want you to go. I don’t have another friend—except Opie, and he drools.”
Alice sniffled and rubbed her nose with the back of her sleeve “like a hoodlum,” as Nettie would say. “I don’t drool much.” She offered a tremulous smile.
Kirk grinned back. “Not much.” He held out his hand. “Want to wash your face, then go to the creek just once more before you leave? I can get away.”
“All right,” said Alice.
Chapter Thirteen
Claire clutched Alice close and kissed her hair. “Darling, I missed you so much!”
“I missed you to, Mummy.” Alice stood on tiptoe to kiss her, then stepped back and ran off shouting, “Jameson? Mrs. Bennett?”
Claire knelt to kiss and hug Ivy, looking over her head at Nettie. “Thank you for coming home so quickly. We’ll discuss the reasons soon.”
“Very well.” Nettie stepped aside as their manservant moved through to collect luggage from the carriage.
She redirected her gaze back down to Ivy. “Did you have a good time in the country, dear?”
“Yes, but I’m glad I’m home now.” Ivy pressed her face against Claire’s shoulder, then moved her head to whisper in her ear. “Mr. Knight is nice, and so is Mr. Parker and Miss Elton and Mrs. Knight. But I don’t like them much.”
Claire smiled. That was just like Ivy. Though her child was convinced that everyone was quite pleasant, she never took to strangers—part of the reason it wouldn’t do for Ivy to be separated from those she loved.
“Would you ever like to go to Pearlbelle again?”
Ivy hesitated. “Not without you, Mummy.”
“Maybe we’ll find somewhere else to holiday … the seaside, perhaps. Would you like that?” Actually, one option she had considered was moving to a new town, creating a new alias, and continuing on as before. A beach town might be a nice change.
Even a little beach town in France. The place where she’d gotten her alias, actually—Berck, where she’d married and been happy for one short week. But going there could be risky. The chances of one tourist from nine years ago being recognized were limited, but who knew?
She had to be careful, and there were too many variables to allow any avoidable ones unchecked. The doctor who had tended Ivy was also a source of rumors that might spread, though as of yet, she had heard nothing from that source.
Ivy was enthusiastic about the idea of the seaside, so that was always an option. Claire loved the beach—the crash of the waves, the cry of the seagulls, the wind whipping her hair to and fro …
His jacket over my shoulders, his eyes on me, his lips on mine.
Claire closed her eyes. She knew better than that.
“Mummy?”
She blinked, then smiled at her child. “Mm—let’s get you some tea. Are you hungry?”
Ivy nodded, her head jerking her whole body up and down. Country air must agree with her.
“Excellent.”
Ivy went off to greet Mrs. Bennett and Jameson, and Claire followed Nettie up to the girls’ room. Her chest felt heavy. She knew this would be difficult. No one would hate her proposed plan more than Nettie.
But it must be done.
Claire cleared her throat, and Nettie looked up from unpacking with a bit of a smile flickering around her lips.
“I suppose you know I have a reason for calling you and the girls back early.”
Nettie cocked her head. “I guessed it. You rarely do things without cause. I trusted it was a good reason, though, and acted immediately. And I’ve no fondness for Pearlbelle Park—you know that.”
“Yes, I do have a reason.” Claire sat on the edge of Alice and Ivy’s bed and regarded Nettie. “But first, tell me—how did the journey go?”
“The journey or the visit?” Nettie raised her eyebrows. “The journey went well. Completely uneventful, which is what one wants from traveling, really.”
Claire swallowed. “And … and the visit?”
“Not terribly eventful. Mr. Parker wouldn’t leave Alice be.” Nettie twitched. His attentions to Alice obviously disturbed her, though Claire wasn’t sure why. Steven wasn’t a horrible man, even if he wasn’t a good one.
“And what of … everyone else?”
Nettie shrugged. “Alice befriended a stable boy and spent a great deal of time with him and his dog.”
“Of course she did.” Alice never was one to understand social classes, and she’d been wanting a friend all her life. “But I meant the other residents of Pearlbelle Park.”
Nettie lifted one of Alice’s dresses from the trunk and smoothed it. “Miss Elton liked them well enough, though she’s unaccustomed to children. Mrs. Knight was ever kind, and Mr. Knight … he tried.”
Claire narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“He’s a man.” Nettie hung up the first dress and returned for the second. “Alice adored Mrs. Knight and—you’ve heard of her lying in?”
“Yes.” Such rumors trickled into town quickly, and she knew the woman was delivered of a son. “A boy, wasn’t it?”
“Edmond. Alice adores him, though I think that has to do with Mrs. Knight’s kind treatment of her more than anything. But he does seem to be a sweet babe.”
A sweet babe. Of course he was—a sweet babe, an heir, a blessing to his parents. Everything she’d hoped her firstb
orn son would be.
Claire didn’t allow herself to daydream anymore as she used to. She didn’t have time for it, and it could only bring pain. Her life was full of variables, but there were no guarantees.
If I can just keep the girls safe, that’s all that matters.
She composed herself. “Nettie, come sit. I made a decision while you were gone, and though I won’t have you challenging it, I would discuss it with you.”
Nettie turned from the closet, and Claire saw fear in her eyes. “What do you mean? What decision would you have made that I would wish to challenge?”
“Sit.” She patted the bed beside her. “It’s for the best—and you must trust me. But I know you will hate it.”
I know I promised you such a thing would not come to pass, and I’m sorry … Claire didn’t want to say that aloud, didn’t want to remind herself of the promise she’d made to Nettie eight years ago. We’ll raise them together. It’ll be all right; you’ll never be separated.
She would break that promise now, if only for a bit. But she had to save Alice. She had to—didn’t she love the child? Nettie’s love was that of a mother, yes, but Claire was still the one who made the decisions, the one with authority over Alice’s life.
And I’m saving her. God, tell me I’m saving her!
It was the only way, and it wasn’t even drastic, at that. Mothers around the world, including her own, had done just what she was doing.
But the risks are so different for me.
Nettie lowered herself onto the bed next to Claire. Her hands were clasped in her lap and her posture straight. “Can you tell me quickly?” Her words were pinched, and Claire knew she’d frightened her.
We’ve so much to be frightened about, Nettie.
“Remember Miss Selle’s?” The boarding school in Norfolk was the most elite a young woman not possessing a title could attend. Claire had spent her girlhood there, from the age of ten through sixteen. That’s where Lois Elton and she had become, by Lois’s definition, bosom friends.
