Innocent (4 page)

MY EYES POPPED
open. There was a hand on my shoulder and a woman standing over me.

“Dear, isn’t this your stop?” she asked. “This is Kingston.”

Then it came back. I was on a train and—

“You are getting off in Kingston, aren’t you?”

I jumped up, and my purse and the papers on my lap scattered and dropped to the floor. I reached down and gathered them up, crumpling them and stuffing them into my purse. I was partway down the aisle when I realized I’d forgotten my bag under the seat. I raced back and tried to pull it free, but it was jammed. I gave an extra-hard tug, and it popped free, causing me to almost tumble over backward.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” I called to the woman.

“Hurry, dear. The train is about to leave.”

Bag in one hand, purse in the other, I ran down the aisle toward a door. I got there just in time to see the conductor at the bottom of the stairs with the little step stool in his hands.

“Please wait, I have to get off!”

“Cutting it a little close,” he said as he offered me a hand.

“I’m sorry—I fell asleep. Thank you.”

No sooner had my feet hit the platform than he and his stool jumped back on board and he leaned out and waved for the engineer to start the train.

I turned and looked back along the tracks. Somewhere back there was the life I’d known. I had the strangest thought—I could just turn around and walk back. It would take days, of course, but it couldn’t be much more than a hundred miles, and if I walked for a few days I could…I let it go. It was the silly thought of a scared little girl. I was scared, but I wasn’t a little girl. I was strong. That’s what Joe had said. I had to face the present. My life, whatever it would become, was right here. Besides, I had other, more pressing things to think about. Rather than entertaining any thoughts of walking back to Hope, I had to get myself to my new home and my new place of employment.

The platform was now empty. I was alone. I walked over to the station, took a seat on the bench, placed my suitcase at my feet and pulled out my purse. Carefully I removed my birth certificate and the newspaper clippings and smoothed them out. One of the clippings had ripped, and the headline
MAN CONVICTED OF MURDER
was split in two. I folded the papers together and slid them back into my purse, this time more carefully. Somewhere in my purse was the address I needed. Mrs. Hazelton had said my new home wasn’t too far from the station. I could ask the station master for directions and walk.

I fumbled around in my purse, but I couldn’t find the slip of paper with the address on it. What if it had fallen out of my purse when I dropped it on the train? What would I do then? It wasn’t as if I’d memorized the address or—there the paper was, tucked away in the bottom of my purse. I pulled it out, unfolded it and read it: 1121 Sydenham Street.

I let out a sigh of relief. Now that I knew where I was going, all I had to do was get there. If I’d fantasized about walking back to Hope, I could certainly stroll across Kingston. Kingston was bigger than Hope by a long shot, but it wasn’t so big that I couldn’t walk from one side of it to the other if I had to.

“Are you Betty?”

I looked up. A man in a black suit stood over me.

“Are you Betty?” he asked again.

I hesitated for a split second and then replied, “My name is Elizabeth Anne.”

“Sorry to bother you,” he said. “I’m here to pick up somebody named Betty Shirley.”

He was half a step away before I called out, “Wait!” and jumped to my feet. “My friends call me Betty.”

He looked suspicious, as if I was lying to him to get a ride.

“I’m here to take up a position at the Remington residence,” I explained.

His expression resolved into a smile, and he nodded his head. “Then you’re the person I’m here to get.”

“Are you Mr. Remington?”

He burst into laughter, which caught me by surprise. I felt embarrassed.

“I’m James, the Remingtons’
driver
.”

I held out my hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, sir.”

“No need to call me sir,” he said as we shook. “Here, let me take your bag.”

Before I could object, he swept down and picked it up, turning on his heels and heading away. I scrambled after him.

“It was nice of you to come and get me,” I said.

“Just following orders.”

“Mr. Remington sent you?”

“Mr. Remington has been gone and buried for a good twenty-five years.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Why, did you know him?” he asked.

“Of course not! I wasn’t even born twenty-five years ago. It’s just that it’s sad that he passed on,” I said.

“If you’d known the man, you would know it wasn’t that sad a day.”

I didn’t know what to say or how to react.

He stopped beside a large black car—the fanciest car I’d ever seen in my entire life. He opened up the trunk, placed my suitcase in it and then walked to the side and opened up the front passenger door, gesturing for me to get in. I did. He closed the door and circled around, getting in behind the wheel.

“This is a beautiful car,” I said as he started the engine.

“It is not simply
a
beautiful car,” James said. “It is
the
most beautiful car. This is a 1961 Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud.”

“I’ve never even seen one of these before.”

“Not surprising, as there are no more than a handful in the entire country, and this is the only one I know of between Montreal and Toronto.”

“It’s just beautiful.” I ran my hand along the wooden dashboard.

“Walnut. The best of the best in everything is almost the Remington family motto.” He put the car in gear and we glided away. “It is the epitome of elegance, luxury and good breeding.”

“I like the thing on the hood,” I said, gesturing to the ornament at the end of the very, very long hood.

“She is referred to as the Spirit of Ecstasy, the Silver Lady or the Flying Lady.”

“She’s beautiful too.”

“She should be, since she’s worth more than many of the cars on the road. Those in the know simply refer to her as Emily.”

That made me laugh. “Hello, Emily,” I said and waved at her.

“You have a fine laugh,” he said. “It reminds me of somebody…I’m not sure who…but it does seem familiar.”

As we moved slowly down a main street, I noticed that people on the street and drivers in other cars turned to look.

“Obviously, you don’t know anything about the family you’ll be working for,” James said.

I shook my head. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

“The lady of the house is Mrs. Remington. You can refer to her as either Ma’am or Mrs. Remington. She is in her early seventies. Unlike her departed husband, who could politely be described as impolite, she is a true lady. She treats her staff with respect and dignity.” He paused. “She is well liked and respected by all the staff.”

“How many staff are there?”

“There is, of course, myself, and the gardener, a cook and the maid.”

“I thought I was hired to be the maid.”

“Believe me, there is enough house to need two maids,” he said. “Besides, Mrs. Meyers is more the head of staff than simply the maid.”

“But do you really need all of those people for one person?”

“The house is also home to her son, Richard Junior.”

“How old is he?” I asked.

“Depends on how you mean that,” he said.

How many ways
could
I mean that?

“He’s got to be close to forty years old,” James said, “but up here”—he tapped the side of his head—“he’s a bit, shall we say,
special
.”

An uneasy feeling came over me, and it must have shown.

“But don’t worry about him. He’s friendly enough and completely harmless. He spends most of his time in the backyard in the pigeon coop.”

The car came to a stop in front of a large metal gate. Beyond the gate, beyond the long, lush lawn, was a big white house.

“Welcome home,” James said.

MRS. MEYERS LOOKED
me up and down, and I dropped my eyes to the ground. She brushed her hands over my apron to smooth it out.

“It seems a bit big, my dear,” she said with her strong Scottish burr.

“Yes, ma’am, a bit big.”

“I’ll take it in this evening, but for tonight it will have to do. I had no idea you’d be such a wee lass.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Are you apologizing for being small?”

“No, I mean…sort of. I didn’t mean to put you to any more work.”

“Actually, you’re going to save me a great deal of work,” she said. “I must admit I was rather surprised when Mrs. Remington informed me that she was bringing on another servant, but many hands make light work.”

“I’ll work as hard as I can,” I promised.

She looked at me with a thoughtful expression. Was she questioning what I’d said?

“You look familiar. Perhaps I’ve seen you around town.”

“I just arrived on the train from Hope. I’ve never been here before…well, except when I was very young.”

“Regardless, there’s something about you,” she said. “Do you see it, Nigel?”

She turned to the cook, who was standing over the stove.

He offered a shrug. “All maids look the same to me. I can hardly tell the two of you apart.”

Mrs. Meyers chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s been almost forty years since I’ve seen her side of twenty. How old are you, child?”

“Almost eighteen.”

“I was younger than you when I started working for the family.”

“Really?”

“Is your response because you can’t imagine that I’ve ever been young or that I’ve worked for the family that long?”

I was ready to stammer out another apology when both she and the cook started to laugh.

“Most of us have been here a long time,” Mrs. Meyers said.

“I’m almost twenty years,” Nigel said as he turned away from the stove to face us. “Actually, she does look familiar to me as well.”

I shrugged. “I guess I just have that sort of face.”

“No, you don’t, but you do look familiar.”

“Come on now, Elizabeth. We’ll get the table set for dinner.”

For a split second I didn’t realize she was talking to me. I still wasn’t sure why I’d introduced myself to first James and then to her as Elizabeth Anne, but I had. For better or for worse, I was in a new town and I had a new name. Or, really, an old name, my real name.

Mrs. Meyers handed me a tray filled with plates and cutlery. It was heavy, and I had to be firm in my grip. The last thing I wanted to do on my first day was break all these fine dishes.

I followed her out of the kitchen and up the stairs—the servants’ stairs. They were steep and narrow and grooved from so much use, and I had to be careful where I stepped. At the top was a small landing, and she propped open a door that led directly into the dining room. I stopped and looked around in awe. It was gigantic—bigger than the dining area at the orphanage—with a high ceiling and dark, polished furniture. At the center of the room was a large table that had a dozen chairs tucked in around it.

“Quite impressive, isn’t it?” Mrs. Meyers said.

“Very. I’ve never been in a place like this before.”

“Tomorrow I’ll take you for a tour of the entire house. It’s one of the most elegant homes in all of Kingston. Place the tray on the sideboard,” she ordered.

I set it down carefully, making sure not to scratch the wood. I was relieved to have delivered it safely. I could only suspect, but I thought the plates on the tray might be worth much more than my monthly wages.

“Watch what I do very carefully.”

Mrs. Meyers set down plates, side plates, soup bowls, fine white napkins and a glistening array of cutlery. I didn’t understand why each person needed so many forks and spoons. Next, she put down a fine crystal glass beside each place setting.

“There’s an etiquette as to how a table should be set,” she explained. “You’ll pick it up quickly.” She motioned for me to come closer, which I did. “This is Mrs. Remington’s spot, and things have to be very precise,” she whispered. “With her fading sight, it’s even more important that each thing, especially the glass, is in
exactly
the correct spot.” She nudged the glass over a touch.

“How bad are—”

Mrs. Meyers shushed me. “Her
hearing
is very good,” she whispered. “And she doesn’t like us talking about it. Her eyes…not so good and getting worse. Cataracts. Her eyes are all clouded over, poor dear, and then there’s a degenerative condition, something that can’t be fixed or cured.”

She finished off the fourth place setting and went over to where we had entered the room, but I couldn’t see a door. She put her hand against a wall panel, and it popped open to reveal the passage we’d come through.

“That’s clever,” I said.

“There are many disguised doors in this house,” Mrs. Meyers said.

“It’s like something from an old movie,” I said as we started down the steep stairs.

“This house is full of little passages, hidden doors and rooms. Partly it’s to keep the servants out of sight. A good servant should be neither heard nor seen, but simply be there when needed. Which reminds me, you are under no circumstances to speak unless you are spoken to. Understand?”

I nodded.

“I didn’t mean with me. You can speak to me all you want. You’re the new girl, by about fifteen years, but we’re all pretty friendly. We consider ourselves a little family.” She paused. “Speaking of which, where is your family?”

“I don’t have a family.”

“Everybody has a family.”

I shook my head. “I was raised in an orphanage. The only family I have are the other girls—I call them my sisters—and now we’re all scattered about, so, well, I don’t have any family.”

“You’re wrong,” Mrs. Meyers said firmly. “Starting today you do have a family—us. Right, Nigel?” she said as we entered the kitchen.

“Maybe not the best family in Kingston, but she’s right. Just consider me that old uncle who never married and loves to cook.”

“And I’m probably too old to be your mother, so think of me as your great-aunt,” Mrs. Meyers said.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” I said. I threw my arms around her, and judging from her expression, I caught her completely off guard. But there was nothing anybody could have said that would have made me feel better and less scared.

“There, there, dear,” she said as she placed one arm around me and patted me on the back.

“If you two are finished hugging, the soup is ready to go upstairs,” Nigel said.

I released my grip and Mrs. Meyers motioned for me to pick up the big soup tureen. The top was closed, but the steam and aroma still escaped. It was heavy. Just how much soup was in here?

Once again we started up the stairs. She pushed the panel open, and we entered the dining room again. The seats were still unoccupied.

“Place the soup over there,” Mrs. Meyers said, pointing to the buffet.

I did as she asked. “That’s a lot of soup for four people,” I said.

“There won’t be four people.”

“Should we set out more places?” I asked.

She motioned for me to come closer. “There are four places set, but there are not going to be four people eating.”

Now I was even more confused.

“Mrs. Remington always has us set four places. One for herself, a place for both of her sons and one for her husband.”

“But I thought that her husband was…”

“He is. She has had us set a place for him at every meal every day since his death.”

“That’s touching.”

“Some people might think it’s a bit touched in the head,” she said, her words barely a whisper.

“It’s so nice that her sons are here to dine with her.”

“It’s rare that her youngest son, Edward, is here. He lives across town and either dines with his own family or is busy working. His
position
keeps him very occupied. Edward is the mayor of Kingston.”

“I had no idea.”

“He’s been elected three times. He’s a fine mayor and a
very
respected man.”

“His mother must be proud of him. So it’s just Mrs. Remington and her other son for dinner?”

She shook her head. “Richie most often eats on his own. We simply bring a meal out to the coop and he dines with his pigeons. It’s most often Mrs. Remington and her music. Speaking of which, I should put on the music.”

She disappeared around the corner, and music filled the room. I recognized it immediately. It was one of Mrs. Hazelton’s favorite pieces.

Mrs. Meyers returned and almost immediately a second door opened and an old woman appeared. I slowly stepped back until I was pressed against the wall.

“Good evening, Mrs. Remington,” Mrs. Meyers called out.

“Good evening, Edith.”

Mrs. Meyers came over and held out a chair, and Mrs. Remington took a seat.

“The soup smells wonderful,” she said.

“I’m sure it’s as good as it smells.”

Mrs. Meyers motioned to me. I took a soup bowl, placed it beside the tureen, removed the top and ladled in a serving of soup. Mrs. Meyers picked it up and placed it in front of Mrs. Remington.

“Will Master Edward be joining us this evening?” Mrs. Meyers asked.

“It appears not. His work has been keeping him rather busy over the past month.”

“And Master Richard?”

“He seems to be even more occupied than the mayor. Did he even have any lunch today?”

“I had a plate sent out to him in his
office
,” Mrs. Meyers said.

“That was very kind of you. Always taking care of my boys. I just wish you could have sent lunch over to Edward. You know his wife is a
dreadful
cook.”

“I know her cook is quite capable, so there’s no need for you to worry,” Mrs. Meyers said.

“I think worrying is the only part of parenting that still applies to me.”

“Yes, ma’am, no matter how old they are, or how old we are, we still worry about our babies,” Mrs. Meyers said.

Had my mother worried about me? Was Mrs. Hazelton worried about me now? Not that she was my mother, but who else did I have?

“So it will only be Mr. Remington and me dining tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Meyers motioned to me again, and I realized what she was asking. I lifted up the ladle and filled a second bowl with soup, which she promptly put down at the setting at the head of the table beside Mrs. Remington.

“Potato-leek soup was always one of my husband’s favorites,” Mrs. Remington said.

She put her hands together and closed her eyes. She was praying. Although I couldn’t hear the words, I put my hands together, lowered my head, closed my eyes and said a silent prayer myself.

Dear God, thank you for the blessings in my life. Please keep me safe and give me the strength to go on, and protect me and my sisters and—

“Amen,” Mrs. Remington said.

Amen
, I said in my head and opened my eyes again.

“This soup is as wonderful as it smells!” Mrs. Remington said after she had tasted a spoonful. “Please pass on my compliments to Nigel.”

“Certainly, ma’am. He’ll be so pleased to hear that.”

“So how was your day today, my dear?” Mrs. Remington asked.

I waited for Mrs. Meyers to answer, but she didn’t say a word. She couldn’t be talking to me, could she?

“Did you speak to our sons at all today?” she asked.

Then I realized it wasn’t either of us she was talking to—it was her
husband
. She was having a conversation with the empty place setting beside her.

“Our newest staff member must think her employer is crazy,” Mrs. Remington said.

I heard the words but didn’t instantly understand they
were
for my ears. Mrs. Meyers gestured for me to answer.

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am.”

“I know my dear husband isn’t here, but somehow it keeps him nearer to my heart to have our conversations. Before my sight left me, I used to write him letters. Does that seem odd?”

“No, ma’am. I know what it’s like not to be around the people you care for,” I said. I thought about Toni and Mrs. Hazelton and all the other girls, my own little family that had been thrown to the winds, and for a split second I thought about the mother I never knew except for what I’d read in a newspaper clipping.

“You’d be surprised how talking to somebody who isn’t with you can bring you closer. You should try it sometime,” she said.

I didn’t know about having a conversation, but I was going to write Toni a letter. I hoped she’d write back.

“Come closer, my dear. I don’t bite, regardless of what Mrs. Meyers might have told you.”

“She only had good things to tell me—honestly!”

“I’m just teasing. Mrs. Meyers is a dear friend and a kind soul—as I imagine you are too. Come closer.”

Slowly, I moved until I was standing right beside her.

“I’d like you to sit down so we can talk and I can get to know you better,” she said and gestured to the seat beside her.

I looked to Mrs. Meyers for guidance, and she nodded. That didn’t relieve the shivers that were radiating throughout my body, but I did as I was told and sat down.

“What would you like to be called?” she asked. Her voice was gentle, and she was looking directly at me, although I didn’t know how much she could really see.

“Elizabeth Anne,” I said.

“Do your friends ever shorten it, perhaps call you Lizzy?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. My friends called me Betty.”

“Not the usual short form of Elizabeth.”

“Well, I wasn’t really an Elizabeth. It’s hard to explain.”

She reached out a hand and placed it on top of one of mine. “I know exactly how complicated it is.” She turned to face Mrs. Meyers. “My eyes don’t allow me to see, but I can certainly hear something familiar in Elizabeth’s voice. Do you hear it?”

“I can’t really say I can, but both Nigel and I thought that she looked familiar.”

I sat there feeling more and more uncomfortable.

“I can hear it with my own ears, so I know it’s true,” Mrs. Remington said. “I can hear her in Elizabeth’s voice the way you can see her with your eyes.”