The Golden Cross (12 page)

Back in the women’s room, Aidan drew a long, quivering breath, struggling to master the passion that shook her. Her mother had just cast her off in front of Orabel and the others, and all because Aidan wanted to be something more than a harlot or barmaid or street beggar.

She turned her back to hide her tears and stormed toward the chest that served as a bureau for all Lili’s women. Hoisting the heavy lid, she looked down into the jumble of skirts, bodices, and sleeves. Anything in this trunk would only look worn and out of place in Heer Van Dyck’s fine house. Besides, the other girls would sorely miss anything she might take.

“Aidan?” Orabel’s gentle hand fell upon her sleeve. “She didn’t mean it. She loves you so much.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Aidan let the lid fall with a heavy slam and turned, leaning upon the trunk as she took one final look around the room. Heer Van Dyck had told her to bring whatever she wanted, but there was nothing in this room—in her entire life—that she wanted to take with her.

Except maybe Orabel. “Don’t worry about me.” She gave Orabel a fleeting smile and patted her friend’s hand. “I should have known that Lili would not want me to go. By some quirk of
fate she brought me into this world, but we haven’t agreed on anything in years. And now it is time we were parting.”

“I’ll miss you.” Orabel’s mouth twisted into something that was not quite a smile.

“I’ll miss you too.” Girding herself with resolve, Aidan lifted her chin, smoothed her skirt, and walked out into the noisy street, determined not to look back.

S
chuyler lowered his crystal glass and studied his daughter over the rim. Marriage certainly seemed to agree with Rozamond. Her dark eyes glowed behind her spectacles, and she had taken to wearing her hair in a trim, matronly bun at the top of her head. Tiny side ringlets of dark hair fringed her pale face, and her smile flitted easily between her brother, Henrick, and her husband of less than a year, Dempsey Jasper.

“If you’ll allow me, sir,” Dempsey was saying with a frown, “I believe the V.O.C. should devote as much attention to its current colonies as to the proposed explorations. The natives here are not as dull-witted as we think. With a solid effort, I believe they could be enlightened and put to service as manual laborers. Just because a man has brown skin does not mean his brain and heart are deformed as well.”

“Enlighten the natives?” Henrick shifted in his chair, then rested his chin in his hand. “My dear brother-in-law, surely you jest. We have barely managed to convince them that a wise man really ought to come out of the rain during a deluge.”

“Excuse me, Heer Van Dyck.” Gusta’s worried face appeared in the doorway, and all conversation ceased. “You have a guest. That
person
—that woman—has come.”

“Really?” Schuyler lowered his glass to the table. The young artist was proving to be an ever-changing mystery. When she left he wasn’t certain he would ever see her again, and yet here she was, an entire day early.

He clasped his hands and smiled at his children. “Henrick, Rozamond, you must meet Aidan O’Connor. A most extraordinary young woman.”

“A young woman?” Rozamond’s smile flattened. “Father, what have you done? I thought we decided it would be foolish to hire another servant when you are preparing to leave.”

“She’s not a servant.”

Schuyler ignored the confused expressions on his children’s faces, pushed himself out of his chair, and went toward the hall. A moment later Aidan O’Connor appeared in the doorway, her jaw set with determination, a glimmer of apprehension in her eyes.

“Miss O’Connor,” he said in English, bowing stiffly. “I pray you have not eaten. We would have waited dinner for you, but I did not expect you this evening.”

“I saw no reason to wait,” she murmured, her voice soft and uncertain as he led her into the dining room.

“Henrick, Rozamond, Dempsey,” Schuyler said, glancing at each of them in turn. “May I present Miss Aidan O’Connor, from—ah, from London.”

The trio sat, blank, amazed, and stupefied. Then, as if he had suddenly remembered his manners, Henrick rose from his chair. “Miss O’Connor,” he said, nearly stumbling over his seat as he hastened to the young lady’s side. The smile he gave her was genuine and openly admiring. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Dempsey was slower to rise, but he finally stood and bowed. “Delighted,” he muttered as his sharp eyes took in every inch of the girl’s impoverished appearance. “And charmed.”

Rozamond was not so quick to offer her hospitality. “Miss O’Connor,” she murmured, her lids slipping down over her eyes. “Welcome to our—to my father’s house. Won’t you join us for dinner?”

Aidan’s gaze fluttered over the table set for four, the men’s elaborate garb, Rozamond’s silk and lace gown.

“I couldn’t, for I’ve eaten already,” she murmured, twin stains
of scarlet blossoming upon her cheeks. “If I might be excused, sir, I’ll go to my room until you call for me.”

“Are you quite certain?” Schuyler asked. “It is no trouble for Gusta to set another place.”

“I couldn’t eat another bite.” But her eyes betrayed her as they fixed on the leg of lamb, the steaming bread, and the heaping mound of spiced fruit in the center of the table. “Thank you, sir, but I’ll go to my room, if that is all right.”

“Very well then.” Schuyler understood—as well as he could, at any rate, without ever having been hungry himself. The poor thing was probably starving, but she felt terribly out of place in this formal atmosphere. He inclined his head in a gesture of agreement and extended his hand toward the hallway. “Make yourself at home, Miss O’Connor. You’ll find Gusta in my library, and she will show you to the upstairs room. I’ll have her send up a tray … just in case you grow hungry later.” He stopped and gave her a heartfelt smile. “I am very glad you decided to come, Miss O’Connor. God usually takes longer to answer my prayers.”

She turned and hurried away toward the library, where Gusta appeared in the doorway like a vengeful guardian spirit. Schuyler thrust his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels for a moment. He wanted to make certain Aidan wouldn’t change her mind and bolt for the door at the last moment.

“Gusta, would you please show our guest to the upstairs chamber?” He kept his voice civil and ignored the storm of displeasure in the housekeeper’s eyes. “And make her a tray for supper, will you? She might be hungry … later.”

When Gusta had silently led the girl toward the stairs, he turned at last to confront the incredulous faces awaiting him in the dining room.

“Upstairs?”
Rozamond squealed. “You’re keeping that woman upstairs in my room?”

“Father, this is truly unconventional. What will the neighbors think?”

“Heer Van Dyck, far be it from me to question your judgment, but what purpose could this girl possibly serve? Surely you don’t need another housekeeper—”

“That girl,” Schuyler interrupted, “just may make my name great.” He jauntily cocked his head to one side and looked at his daughter. “And what I do under my roof is really none of your concern, Rozamond; you should look to the affairs of your own household.” He turned to his son. “This is only for a short time. The neighbors will have no cause to gossip; we are fully chaperoned with Gusta here.” Finally he looked at his gaping son-in-law. “Dempsey, that young woman is the most talented artist I have ever had the honor of meeting. She is untrained, but I have a strong feeling the scope and glory of her work will one day far surpass mine.”

That said, he resumed his seat, picked up his knife and spoon, and sliced off a healthy portion of the lamb. “If none of you has any further objection, I would like to finish my dinner in peace.”

They finished the meal in stunned silence. Henrick could not help but notice that his father gulped his food, bolted his drink, and excused himself before the others could gather the courage to launch another series of questions. The old man forfeited his usual cigar at the dinner table and moved immediately to his library.

“Look at him!” Rozamond hissed when their father was safely out of earshot. “What in the world could have possessed him? Where did he find this woman? Do you think—” Her face twisted in a grimace. “—she has somehow bewitched him? I’ve heard of older gentlemen being seduced by young women, but never thought my own father could fall for such foolishness.”

“She’s a comely lass, for certain,” Dempsey inserted, obviously unaware of the scathing look Rozamond shot him. “I could see why any man would admire her, but she seems a bit bedraggled for Heer Van Dyck’s taste. If he wanted female companionship, surely he would have gone a-courting among the eligible and noble women of this town.”

“I’ve seen her before.” Henrick squinted across the room, trying to conjure up the memory. “Down at the docks, I’m sure. I’ve seen her among the women who frequent the tavern at Broad Street. Do you not remember the group that loiters on the street corner? There’s a girl who sings for pennies, and a pair who dance. And this one, I’m certain, is a barmaid at the tavern.” His eyes narrowed as he considered the events of the evening. “If Father says she is an artist, he is undoubtedly right. He has always recognized others … with his gift.”

Which neither Rozamond nor I have. He wanted us to be artists, and we aren’t like him at all
.

“Be reasonable, Henrick. Great artists don’t wait tables in a tavern! This girl is nothing but a tramp, one of those brazen dockside hussies the minister is always threatening to arrest.” Flushing, Rozamond pushed back her chair and stood. “And I will simply not allow Father to put her in my room. She’ll rob us blind! By this time tomorrow our father will be dead in his bed while a tribe of those wastrels ravage the house—”

“You cannot discount Gusta,” Henrick interrupted. “If this woman is up to mischief, Gusta will have her back out on the street before the woman knows what’s hit her. I don’t think we need to fear for Father’s safety.”

“Still—” Dempsey lifted his glass and swirled the liquid inside. “I’d feel more at ease if I knew where the woman came from and what her intentions are. Everyone has a past, and everyone has a purpose. I’d just like to know what Aidan O’Connor’s plans are.”

“All right then.” Henrick rubbed his hands on his trousers and inclined his head. “I will see what I can discover about her.”

“If you need anything—” The housekeeper spoke slowly, as if forcing unwilling words from her tongue. “—bring it to my attention.” The woman’s dark eyes drifted pointedly over Aidan’s slender form. “Though since I can see that you have brought nothing, you shall probably need everything.”

“I don’t require much.” Aidan met Gusta’s accusing eyes without flinching. “This gown has always been quite fine enough for me, and your master said he’d furnish the art supplies and such.”

The housekeeper’s left eyebrow rose in indignation. “That gown must be washed at once. And you must take a bath. I cannot allow you to sleep on Miss Rozamond’s clean sheets with a layer of grime upon your neck and only God knows what filth on the skin I cannot see.” The right brow rose to match the left. “Good gracious, I hadn’t thought—I suppose you have lice.”