Unveiled (2 page)

“Humph.” The woman frowned, handing back the papers. She examined Katie critically, her eyes almost disappearing into her round face. Katie held her breath until the woman nodded, then continued abruptly, “I suppose you’ll do. Your papers are in order. Mind you’ll not be making off with the silver. And watch your p’s and q’s. The old dragon’s a stickler for the queen’s English.”

Katie thrust the papers inside her bag. “Where is Mrs. Pemberton?”

“She’s taking her nap.” The woman tried to remain gruff, but there was something about Katie that made it extremely difficult to maintain her demeanor. “I don’t suppose you’ve eaten?”

“Not since yesterday.” Katie sighed.

The woman rolled her eyes in resignation. “Well, come in until it’s time for your interview. To the kitchen with you, and don’t be scuffing my floor. My name’s Eileen.”

Katie nodded and did as she was told, little daunted by the woman’s brusque manner. Where she came from, in the Irish ward of Philadelphia, everyone talked like Eileen and had the same lack of affection toward youth. It came from living in the city, where so many young people died long before they reached adulthood. It was as if one didn’t prove oneself fit until one overcame that stigma.

Hushing the sound of her boots on the polished marble floor, Katie gazed in wonder at the ornate rose wallpaper, twirling with leaves and thorns from one wall up to the border and even across the ceiling. Burgundy and gold, it looked grand to the young woman’s eyes, as did the hurricane lamps dripping with crystal, the heavy carved furniture, the gold-leaf looking glass that consumed one side of the wall.

The kitchen was at the far end of the house. Katie passed sitting rooms cleverly arranged with intricate chairs and heavily swathed in velvet drapes. Stained-glass windows appeared as if by afterthought, their odd panes gleaming bloodred and sapphire in the morning sunlight.

“Here it is. Sit now at the table and I’ll light the stove. Lord would think you would eat first, the long trip and all.”

Eileen pinched her arm, indicating the table, and Katie abruptly took a seat, rubbing the abused member. As Eileen bustled about she stared at the sideboard in amazement. Never had she seen so much food. A basket of potatoes waited beside the sink, and a bowl of fruit graced the table. A ham stood near the stove, enticingly pink and juicy. She saw a pitcher of fresh milk in the icebox and a loaf of baked bread on the sideboard. Eileen cut her a thick slice, then lathered it with blueberry jam and thrust it disdainfully at her.

“Eat that until the luncheon is made. I’m going to share my own meal with you. Can’t see you go hungry, and the old dragon would begrudge you even that.”

Katie smiled in gratitude, then devoured the bread. Nothing had ever tasted so good. She drank greedily of the frothing milk Eileen had placed before her, and was finishing a second chunk of bread before she could speak.

“What is she like?”

Eileen scowled as she placed a good supper of ham and potatoes on the table, then joined the young girl. “Madam? She’s about what you would expect. Daft, she is. Forgets one day to the next. But don’t let that fool you into thinking you can put one over on her. Sometimes the old lady is as sharp as knives. Cheap as they come, too. Would take the pennies off the eyes of a corpse.”

Katie shuddered, then ate a second slice of ham. “Why does she need a companion?”

Eileen chuckled, then recited the clipping. “‘Elderly lady seeks seaside companion. Must be youthful, trustworthy, etc. Room and board, plus wages. See Ella Pemberton.’ Note how they’re vague on the last.”

“They?”

“The Pembertons,” Eileen said with a conspiratorial wink. “The Main Liners can’t stand the old lady. So they send her down here, to the shore house, hire a companion, and they’re done with the whole situation. Convenient, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Katie agreed. She was about to help herself to another potato when the clanging of a bell startled her and she nearly dropped her spoon. Eileen sighed, then pushed heavily away from the table and gave Katie an inspecting glance.

“Pull your hair away from your eyes. Too bad we don’t have time to take a comb to it, the color’s lovely. And brush the tips of your boots. Madam can’t stand dust. There now.” Reaching out, she pinched Katie’s cheeks, satisfied when she saw the tears start in her eyes and fresh color bloomed just below them. “You’ll do. Up with you now. And remember, don’t cry. She can’t stand sniveling.”

Katie nodded, wincing as her cheeks still stung. She felt Eileen’s hand touch her shoulder reassuringly, then the woman shoved her toward the massive staircase. Katie fought the instinct to run. Clutching her carpetbag, she entered the first bedroom that Eileen indicated.

The room was so dark that it took her a moment to realize it was all decorated in rose, from the palest pink to the darkest cherry. The windows, painstakingly shuttered, were clothed in burgundy velvet, refusing to permit even the slimmest shaft of light to enter. Gas lamps hung from the wall, but no flicker of illumination glinted from their opaque glass shades. Even the lace bedspread looked yellowed and old, as if it had shriveled up like a pansy from lack of sunshine.

“Another, I suppose?” Ella Pemberton’s voice rasped. She had the same impervious tone as one of the nuns who ran the city’s parochial school. “I heard the door. Let’s have a look at you, miss.”

Katie dropped her bag and stepped forward, grimacing at the thought of the inspection. Up close, Ella Pemberton was even more daunting. Her face, once beautiful, had sharpened with age, chiseling her features until one couldn’t help but notice the penetrating eyes, the unforgiving nose, the mirthless mouth. Common sense, lack of humor, and overbearing intelligence were all written there. The old woman’s pale eyes peered at the young girl and she gestured to the housekeeper.

“Not much bigger than the last one, is she? I take it her papers are in order?”

“Yes, miss,” Eileen said evenly. “She has a good letter of reference from Marjorie Westcott.”

“I see.” The old lady peered quizzically at Katie, then waved a finger impatiently. “Don’t just stand there, turn around! Eileen, light the lamp. I want to get a good look at her.”

Eileen complied, then indicated to Katie that she should move closer. Katie stepped into the lamplight and looked directly at Ella Pemberton. She felt like a little girl at school, being inspected by the nuns, then taken to task for the dust on her boots. She winced, waiting for the old woman to find fault, but a profound change seemed to come across Ella.

“My God,” the old woman whispered in shock. “Can it be? It is. My dear, dear girl.”

Katie stared at the woman in confusion. Ella’s profile had lost its harshness and her eyes seemed to soften like wax. Color had drained from her cheeks and there was a look of disbelief mingled with joy on her face as a tear dropped down her lined skin.

“Mrs. Pemberton?” Katie asked softly. She was afraid for a moment that the woman would faint, but Ella chuckled and wiped at the tear.

“Fan. My dear, dear Fan. Please forgive me for not recognizing you immediately. It’s just been so long.”

Katie glanced at Eileen, who stood in the doorway with her mouth sagging. Ella’s voice was full of emotion and had lost its bitterness. She sounded like a young girl and a wistful smile came to her face as she gazed fondly at Katie.

“That’s not your niece,” Eileen said quickly. “This is a girl answering the advertisement. You know Fan is—”

“Don’t you dare,” Ella said sternly. She whirled on the housekeeper and poked a jagged finger in the air. “You know I never believed that. It was a tale, that’s what it was. They like to see me suffer. No, I have my Fan back and all will be well.”

“But—”

“Please put her in her old room, Eileen. There will be no more discussion. My sweet Fan.”

Eileen opened her mouth, then closed it abruptly. “This way, Your Ladyship,” she muttered, leading Katie out of the room. When they got outside, she turned toward Katie in disapproval. “It looks like you’ll be here for a while. She’s really addled her brain now. Fan, she called you. Thinks you’re her niece.”

Katie’s eyes widened. “Her niece?”

Eileen nodded, then pushed open a door at the far end of the hall. In spite of her bewilderment, Katie couldn’t stop the look of wonder on her face when Eileen led her into a lovely bedroom decorated with chintz and ribbons. Not even the housekeeper’s scowls could dim her pleasure as she observed the mirrors and a washstand, a rug so thick her feet sank into it, and a bed filled with down feathers.

“This is for me?” Her voice squeaked and Eileen nodded, her lips tight.

“This is Fan’s room. That’s where she wants you.” Eileen indicated the lovely surroundings. “Enjoy it while you can. Eventually I’m sure she’ll realize her mistake.”

“What happened to her? Fan, I mean?” Katie asked.

Eileen hesitated, then shrugged. “Frances ran off with a disreputable gambler and was never spoken of again. Word reached the family that she got killed in San Francisco, but the old lady refused to believe that. Fan was her favorite. She cared more for her than the rest of them put together.”

“And she’s never been heard from since?”

Eileen nodded. “Until you walked in, Mrs. Pemberton seemed to have forgotten her.” Scowling again, Eileen indicated the washstand. “Tea is at four. I’m sure the old woman would want her dear niece there.”

Eileen stalked out, leaving Katie alone in the room. After kicking off her boots, the young girl flounced onto the quilt and nearly hugged herself in glee.

She’d fallen over the rainbow. And right into the pot of gold.

T
WO

^“
D
ammit, Jack, after all these years, I can’t believe you’re telling me this.” Christopher stared at the older man who lounged in a richly upholstered chair, his feet resting on a stuffed ottoman.

At Christopher’s heated words the man shrugged, then flicked the ash from his cigar into a brass tray. “I’m sorry, Chris, but I can’t extend you any more funds. Your account is way past due and already over your limits. I understand your difficulties, but…” Hesitating a moment, he continued thoughtfully, “May I be perfectly frank, in light of our friendship?”

Christopher paled, then nodded. Jack Birmingham was the owner of the most reputable gaming hall in the city. The man wielded considerable power and influence, and when necessary, he used them. No policeman had ever shut down his establishment, no politician had ever rallied against the sin of gambling. The reasons were simple: Jack paid them well to support his business, and they complied.

Placing aside his cigar, Jack began quietly. “You’re out of money, Chris. I checked with your banker yesterday. It’s all right, the man is discreet.” He noticed the look of alarm on Christopher’s face and spoke reassuringly. “You see, I am entitled to this information because I hold your letter of credit. It is not common knowledge throughout the city. However, I cannot in all good conscience continue to advance you money.”

“But I can win it back,” Christopher said desperately. “I know I can. You know my record—I’m the best cardplayer in the place.”

“I know that. You’ve made a lot of money for yourself, and the house. You play a fair game, you are a gentleman and have never been caught cheating.” Jack smiled when Christopher seemed to relax a bit. “But my answer must remain the same. It is as much for your sake as my own.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Jack said sympathetically. “But let me clarify the issue. For reasons I can’t explain but have often observed, the winners are men who don’t need the money. Once they do, they lose. They give off emotions that other men sense and capitalize on. They reveal their hand because their livelihood depends on the next card. No man can successfully play poker with stakes like that.”

“Then you’re saying you won’t help me?” Christopher demanded.

Jack shook his head. “I don’t want to see you get to the point where you can’t dig yourself out. It’s happened to too many others, men who thought just a few more hands and they’d be ahead. They wind up destitute, slaves to the game they once controlled.” As Christopher paced the floor Jack spoke softly. “Why don’t you get away for a few weeks, maybe to the seaside, and do some thinking? You need to come up with an alternate plan of action, not just a temporary fix. You are a handsome young man, Christopher, well connected and full of charm.” He smiled. “Have you perhaps considered marriage?”

Christopher’s mouth dropped, and Jack continued. “Society doesn’t know about your financial woes. And the debutantes often bring a sizable dowry into a marriage. I would consider it, at least.”

“Thanks,” Christopher said sarcastically. “I’ve had the same advice from my aunt. It seems everyone is advocating the marriage market these days.” He procured his derby and departed without looking back.

Jack Birmingham relit his cigar. Christopher would come to reason. He really didn’t have any other choice.

She couldn’t do this. She would have to confess to Lady Pemberton that she wasn’t her long-lost niece. She was simply Katie O’Connor, daughter of Seamus O’Connor, who drank himself to death shortly after his wife had passed on. She wasn’t a Philadelphian first family, wasn’t among the Who’s Who, wasn’t even registered in the church. She had borne a bastard son, and for that deserved to be shunned by all decent people.