Carla Kelly (3 page)

“Just the scissors, my dear.”

“Very well.”

Papa followed her into the hall. His face was white now, his eyes more desperate than she could remember. He tugged at her sleeve like a child. “Susan, this one last time, trust me with Mama’s pearls. I can win and you will have your season!”

“No, Papa.”

He did not ask a second time. She gently removed her arm from his grasp and went to the breakfast room. When she returned with the scissors, he was moving slowly up the stairs. From her seat on the sofa close to Aunt Louisa, she heard him leave the house an hour later.

She remained where she was, even though she wanted to run upstairs, throw herself on her knees in front of the lowest drawer in her bureau, and feel the reassurance of Mama’s pearls in their red velvet bag. He would never, she thought as she darned socks. Yes, he would, she amended.

Grimly she stuck at her task, nodding and saying “Um,” and “Indeed,” to her aunt’s numerous comments on friends, enemies, neighbors, the government, and stray dogs. These will be my evenings from now on, she told herself. I had better get used to them.

To her relief, Aunt Louisa finally pushed back the embroidery frame with a sigh and called for tea, drinking it slowly, thoughtfully, while Susan chafed to go upstairs.

“Good night, Susan,” Aunt Louisa said at last. “Do you think you could return a book to the lending library for me tomorrow morning? It’s long overdue.”

“I surely can.”

Louisa made a face. “I cannot spare a maid to walk with you, but you don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course I do not, Aunt.”

“Very well then.” She took Susan’s hand as she passed by. “We will get along famously, I am sure.”

“Of course, Aunt,” said Susan as she bent to kiss her.

In her room, Susan stood for a long time before the bureau, her hands clasped in front of her. Everything looked in order. If Papa meant to deceive, he had done better than usual this time. She knelt by the drawer finally and opened it.

Her neatly folded petticoats and chemises were turned back. I could have done that, she thought as she reached underneath them. She sighed with relief as she touched the velvet bag, then bit her lip as she felt for the familiar shape of Mama’s beautiful pearls, a gift from her father. The bag was empty.

Susan was still awake hours later when she heard her father climbing the stairs. A week ago, she would have felt some hope, some anticipation that he would burst into her room with good news, the best news. He paused outside the door a moment, and she almost held her breath.

The moment passed; he moved on slowly. She turned her face to the wall and closed her eyes.

Chapter Three

She did not expect her father to say anything to her over breakfast, and he did not. After selecting from the sideboard, he sat quietly in his chair, his gaze going more often to the icy window than to the eggs on his plate. If he was chastising himself, Susan knew that it would pass soon enough. In a week, or maybe even a few days, he would be casting about for something else to stake on the flip of a card. I hope you do not take to stealing from your sister, Susan thought as she ignored her own breakfast. You have stolen everything from me now, and I have nothing left to lose.

She applied herself to the porridge in front of her, patting down the mush and watching the cream swell inside, then seek a lower level. She created a series of connecting terraces before she looked up at her father.

“I am going to seek employment.”

It was not a question, nor was it spoken with any heat or blame. It was the most matter-of-fact sentence she had ever uttered in her life. She put down her spoon and took a deep breath as Aunt Louisa gasped.

Sir Rodney said nothing. Aunt Louisa looked at him, her face a study in stupefaction. “Can’t you say anything?” she asked finally.

He could not. She turned to her niece, her words coming out as brisk and cold as sleet on window glass. “No Hampton has ever worked, Susan. How can you forget that?”

Susan let her breath out slowly. Either I continue now or I fold for good, she thought. “Then perhaps it is time one of them did, Aunt,” she said, each syllable distinct. “I cannot continue to be a charge on you, and you will be the first to remind me that I am getting old. My mind is quite made up, Aunt.”

“You can’t meant that!” Louisa burst out. “What will our circle think when they learn that you have hired yourself out as . . . as . . . what? Think what this will do to Emily’s chances!”

“It will do nothing to Emily’s chances, Aunt,” Susan said quietly. “The only one affected will be me.”

Aunt Louisa leaned back in her chair. “I forbid you to even think of such a thing!” She put her hand to her forehead. “Now I have a headache, and there is so much to do today!” She rose, cast another scathing look at her brother, and swept from the room.

Susan finished her breakfast, wiped her lips, and rose to go while Sir Rodney still sat staring at his plate. She went to the door, but turned back when he cleared his throat.

“Don’t do anything rash, daughter,” he begged, raising his eyes to hers for the first time.

And how many times did Mama and I plead so with you? she wanted to scream at him. Instead, she took another deep breath until she felt calm enough to speak. “Papa, I am taking charge of my life now,” she said, her voice rising with emotion, despite her efforts to control it. “I am long of legal age, and I have such a grievance against you, you know I have!”

He said nothing more. She went upstairs and stood for a long time staring out the window in her bedroom. It was snowing lightly, and her determination wavered. Perhaps there will be no snow tomorrow, and all the walkways will be swept, she considered. In another day or two, the snow could be entirely gone. She leaned her forehead against the windowpane. And in another year or two of days, I will be too old to make this attempt. I will be biddable and do whatever Aunt wishes of me, as if I never had plans of my own.

Well, perhaps I don’t, she thought as she pulled on her boots and wound her muffler tight around her throat. I wanted to marry and have children, but unless some miracle happens, that plan is gone. I cannot depend upon a man to make my way safe or smooth. I must learn to do that for myself.

It was a daunting thought, and not one that she had entertained much in her life. All the women that she knew were taken care of by men, or at least in Aunt Louisa’s case, were left pots of money to keep the coal flowing freely into grates, and excessive dinners on the table. I wonder, can I do it? she asked herself as she pulled on her mittens and picked up Aunt Louisa’s book for the lending library.

“Susan!”

She looked up, startled and a little guilty as Aunt Louisa bore down on her from the front salon. With a gulp, Susan held up the book. “You wanted me to return this, Aunt?”

Louisa stopped and eyed her. “You’re not planning anything foolish, are you, my dear?”

It’s not foolish to want to provide for myself, Susan reasoned. “No, Aunt, nothing foolish,” she said. “I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.” And with any luck, you and Emily will be out trying on hats or gloves, or taking measurements or umbrage, and won’t have any idea when I return.

Aunt Louisa smiled at her, and Susan owned to a prickle of conscience, “I’ll overlook your nonsensical little comments this morning, Susan,” her aunt said generously.

“Very well, Aunt,” she replied, standing aside for the footman to open the door. That was noncommittal enough, Susan thought as the door closed behind her. I could become an accomplished liar, if I worked at it.

Her determination wavered as the wind tugged at her skirts and spat snow into her face. I could return this book tomorrow, she thought as she stood, indecisive, on the front step. But it was beautiful outside, with a skiff of snow covering muck on the road and muffling the sound of horses’ hooves. She shrugged at the particles of snow that trickled down her neck and started off at a brisk pace.

The lending library was busier than she expected, considering the blustery nature of the day. Obviously she was not the only person on the planet who enjoyed stretching out on the sofa with a good book, especially on a raw day. But now what? Susan returned the book and stood looking out at the snow, panicked suddenly by the realization that she had no idea how to look for employment. Her mind in turmoil, she watched a young matron with her small daughter, their heads together over a book. The sight, a familiar one from her own experience, calmed her and gave her an idea. She remembered earlier, more plentiful days, when she had a governess.

Well, here I go, she thought as she made her graceful way through the stacks toward the woman.

“Excuse me, madam,” she said, smiling and extending her hand. “My name is Susan Hampton. I am new to London, and I am looking for both an abigail and a nursemaid. Do you know . . . can you tell me of employment agencies in town?”

The woman smiled back and handed the book to her daughter. “It’s hard to find good servants!” she said, taking in Susan’s modish pelisse and smart bonnet.

Yes, I am one of your kind, Susan thought as she dimpled and smiled back. You can speak to me, for I am, as of ten-thirty this morning, still respectable. “It is so hard to find help?” she asked, her eyes wide with what she hoped was country naiveté. How excellent for my chances, she considered. Perhaps I will be lucky today, if good servants form a distinct minority.

“Let me suggest the Steinman Agency, four blocks toward the Strand,” the woman replied, gesturing toward the window. She leaned close to Susan then. “That’s where I found our treasure of a governess. Of course, Steinman is Jewish, but a good businessman.”

The woman giggled behind her hand, and Susan joined in. My, we are superior Christians, she thought. Enjoy the hypocrisy while you can, Susan. When you’re earning a living, you’ll be fair game, too. She thanked the woman for her advice and left the bookstore. It was snowing in good earnest now, but she bowed her head against the wind and hurried on.

Susan almost walked past the agency, but
STEINMAN
in modest letters on an iron plaque caught the edge of her vision. She stopped and stared at the door, wishing that an earthquake would suddenly swallow it. I could always pretend to myself that I couldn’t find the place, she considered. Maybe in a year or two, I would even believe that I had done the right thing by winding myself back into Aunt Louisa’s web.

But there it was, a substantial door with two neatly curtained windows to the side. A discreet sign in the window closer to the door said
NOW HIRING
. Susan took a deep breath and opened the door.

A young man looked up from the desk as a blast of wind came in with her. He grabbed at the paper he was writing on, leaning on it with his body and trying to clutch other papers now fluttering to the floor. Susan closed the door quickly behind her, wondering briefly why he did not just grab the papers, and then noting that he had only one arm. Oh, this is a good beginning, she thought as she knelt on the floor and began to gather up the papers.

“There you are, sir,” she said a moment later. “I’m sorry for the commotion.”

“Well, until I reach such a lame disposition that I have to blame a young lady for the wind, I thank you.”

She smiled at him and held out her hand. “I am Susan Hampton,” she said simply.

He had lost his right arm, so he held out his left. She shook it and sat in the chair he indicated. “I’m Joel Steinman, he with too many papers and not enough fingers anymore to subdue them all. Are you interested in hiring a maid or a governess? I might warn you that this is a difficult time of year to hire. What can I do for you?”

He was impossible not to smile at, with his rumpled black hair and lopsided grin. There was no question that he was a son of Abraham, as the lady in the library had mentioned. His nose was long and high-bridged, his warm olive complexion a striking contrast to the average pallid Londoner adrift in a gloomy English winter.

She smiled back, struck by the fact that this was the first man she had ever spoken to who was unknown to her father or aunt. I have never spoken of business matters to anyone before, she considered. And if I keep on grinning, he will think I am an idiot. The thought only widened her smile.

And he smiled back, as unconcerned as she was bemused. “What can I do for you?” he asked again.

“You can offer me some tea,” she suggested as she pulled off her gloves and wondered if she had taken complete leave of her senses. “It’s cold out there, and I need to talk business.”

Nothing seemed to surprise him. He leaned back in his chair. “Mama! Do put on some tea.”

In a few minutes a lady who, other than being a foot shorter, was almost a duplicate of Joel Steinman came into the room carrying a tray. She nodded to Susan, set the tray on the desk, and settled herself into the chair at the other desk.

“Miss Hampton, this is my mother. We are equal partners in this business.”

Enchanted, Susan held out her hand for the cup and saucer. “You run a business together?”

“Since my husband died, Miss Hampton,” said the woman as she stirred two lumps of sugar into her tea. The glance she gave to her son was almost as warm as the tea Susan sipped. “If you could wait a few months, I am sure we will have a better selection of servants for you to select from. As it is now . . .” She shrugged her shoulders in an eloquent way that Aunt Louisa would have found uncouth, but which delighted Susan.

I cannot dupe these kind people, Susan thought as she set down her cup on Joel’s desk. “You do not precisely understand. I want to hire myself out as a governess.”

The Steinmans looked at each other and frowned. This is going to be more difficult than I thought, Susan considered. “I am proficient in French, piano, and needlework, and know the rudiments of grammar, math, and composition,” she offered, stammering in her desire to please.

Mrs. Steinman shook her head, while Joel Steinman frowned at her. “It won’t do, Miss Hampton,” he said, and his tone was decisive. “There’s not a married woman in the whole country who would hire you.”

“But . . . you just told me how hard it is to find good servants, and here I am offering . . .”

The Steinmans exchanged glances again and sighed. “Mother, you tell her,” Joel said. “She might think I’m being forward.”

Mrs. Steinman folded her arms in front of her and leaned toward Susan across the desk. “Miss Hampton, when was the last time you looked in a mirror?”

“Why . . . only this morning. I don’t understand,” Susan protested.

“Ladies come here for abigails and governesses, my dear, and most particularly they do not hire pretty women with tiny waists, dimples, and curly hair. You can’t be over twenty.”

“I am twenty-five,” Susan asserted. “But I am qualified in every way for such a position!” And you cannot imagine how badly I need it, she thought, leaning forward, too.

“Ladies do not want women in the house that look like you,” Joel explained, his face a dull red. “They have husbands and older sons who would consider you too much temptation.” He held up his hand against the militant look on her face. “I’m telling you this for your own good, Miss Hampton. I assure you it’s nothing personal. I mean, I think you’re charming.” He blushed some more, and Susan laughed in spite of herself.

“Well, thank you, I think,” she said, rising to go. Now what, she asked herself as she looked outside. It was snowing harder. “No,” she said, and sat down again. “I need a job. My father, Sir Rodney Hampton, is a gambling fool, my aunt wants to turn me into her footstool, I am twenty-five with no dowry, and I need a job.” I could cry without too much effort, she thought as she looked from one Steinman to the other. She wondered briefly which one would yield the faster to tears, then rejected the notion. This is business, she told herself. Tears are out.

“You’re making this difficult,” Joel said after a moment, but there was more regret than dismissal in his tone.

She took heart and hitched her chair closer to both desks. “I suppose I am,” she began, “but I . . .”

“. . . still need a job,” he finished for her, his eyes merry in spite of her dilemma.

“Oh, I do,” she sighed. “Please, help me, sir.”

Steinman looked at his mother for a long moment and then drummed his fingers on his desk. The rat-a-tat sound had a definite military cadence, and Susan wondered again where he had lost his arm.

Her attention was broken by the postman’s whistle and the
whush
of letters shoved through the opening in the door. Without thinking, Susan got up and gathered the mail together, brushing off the snow. She handed it to the man in front of her. He glanced at the letters, then slapped one of them.