Band of Sisters (44 page)

Dinner for thirty-one went smoothly. Harder and “David Carmichael” waited table.

“Mary Carmichael” assisted the Sedgebrook maids in running hot dishes up the kitchen staff stairs and soiled ones down. She stayed until the last platter was washed, earning grudging thanks from the cook, Mrs. Beaton, and undying appreciation from Nancy Small, the scullery maid.

“I never thought we’d get that lot washed and put away.” Nancy pulled her sopping apron from her shoulders.

“Just in time to set the table for breakfast?” Maureen tied a fresh apron round her waist.

“Oh no, miss! Mr. Belgadt’s very strict. No dishes in the dining room till morning.”

“But he wants breakfast served by eight, you said.”

“Aye, but he uses that great, long dining room table to stage his auc—” Her eyes widened as she caught herself. “To entertain, some evenings,” she whispered at last.

“They smoke and take brandies in the dinin’ room?”

“What’s that?” Mrs. Beaton asked.

“It’s nothing,” Nancy spoke up quickly. “I just told her we don’t set table for breakfast till morning.”

“That’s right, we don’t. You’ve a problem with that?” Mrs. Beaton challenged Maureen.

“No, of course not. I’ll be down by six, shall I, and lend a hand?”

Mrs. Beaton stared but didn’t respond.

“I’ll finish my duties for Mr. Morrow and say good night, then.” Maureen warmed a cup of milk for her master on the stove, conscious of the weighted silence behind her, and headed for the stairs.

She’d barely turned the corner when she heard Mrs. Beaton hiss, “Watch what you say, you little fool!”

“But she’s been brought in to help us. She surely knows why they’re all here, don’t she?”

“I don’t know what she knows, but if you value your tongue, you’ll keep it behind your teeth.”

Nancy,
Maureen thought with a smile to herself,
we must have a little chat.

The night had run late for Joshua and taxed everything he’d learned in the last weeks. He and Harder had been on duty since the first guests arrived that afternoon, fetching and carrying, pouring drinks and lighting cigars, not only for their own masters, but attending every gentleman’s whim.

The full-story clock in the downstairs foyer struck two before the last guest retired, and then only because Belgadt had had the women escorted away, promising to bring them out to prance and play the next evening.

The butlers had been left to set the room to rights and then attend their masters.

Once he’d left Curtis for the night, Joshua locked the door to his servants’-quarters room above stairs behind him, pulled his collar and tie from his shirt, and heaved a sigh.
At least I’ve not been billeted with that slime, Harder.
He sank to his knees and poured out the contempt he’d barely kept hidden.

It sickens me, Lord, this shameful exploitation of the crown of Your creation. I know we’re here to cut this abomination off below its knees. I know that if we’re to do that, these men must be made to feel safe and important enough to reveal their secrets, or they’ll never lead us to their victims. But I don’t know that I can long look on these men without showing them the anger and disgust I feel. And forgive me, help me, Lord, in my thoughts and in the surrender of my flesh to You, this night. For I’m a man, and that’s all I am.

Protect Maureen, Father. Protect her from the hurt these men would cause her. Protect her heart and sensibilities. Remind her that what she does, she does for the good of her friends, her sister, and for other women so they’ll never know the cruelty she’s known. And most of all, Lord, let her know Your love. Reach out to her, and draw her heart to Yours. Let her know the joy of bein’ Your daughter.

Thank You for Curtis and his plan. Thank You for giftin’ him with the ability and the resources to do this work. Strengthen our arms and spirits. Make us successful in this fight. Help us free these women in bondage so that You might show them a life they’ve not yet imagined. Help us reunite them with those who love them, and open the hearts of their families to receive and restore them. Through Jesus, who came to set us free, amen.

Three long days later Curtis spit into the snow, then said, “Night after night of throwing to these bloodhounds the most expensive caviar and liquor money can buy, soirees to rival pre–Civil War slave auctions, and all Belgadt’s sales talk—and we’ve whittled our ‘guest list’ to seventeen.” He spit again as though he couldn’t get the nasty taste from his mouth. “Seventeen men who would willingly sell their sisters for a price, and some who’ve already sold their wives to brothels.”

“But no progress on our end.” Joshua followed close on Curtis’s heels, the picture of the manservant obediently trailing his eccentric master during a midday constitutional, but also providing their only opportunity to speak freely.

“No.” Curtis marched faster, fury evident in his stride.

“I’m at the beck and call of the lot of them, so I’ve had no opportunity to look for ledgers or accounts or where they keep the women. Maureen’s found nothin’.”

“Nor have I,” Curtis sighed. “Belgadt sticks to me like glue.”

“And Harder to me. I’m thinkin’ that’s his assignment.”

“No doubt.”

“Some are scheduled to leave by tomorrow mornin’s train. It’ll not be easier to search when they’ve gone.”

“No.” Curtis slowed. “We need some sort of distraction—an upheaval of sorts, to throw things off-kilter—to give you and Maureen freedom to search. And we need it tonight.”

“Somethin’ they’re not prepared for,” Joshua mused.

“Exactly.”

“Leave it to me.”

“You want me to what?” Maureen gasped, her hot iron in midair.

“You’re not deaf, lass; we need a distraction,” Joshua insisted, slipping her a small vial.

“Well, that will distract them, if it doesn’t kill them. Not that they deserve better.” She pocketed the vial and shook the shirt she’d been pressing for Curtis.

“Just a little in the soup and the cuttin’ of the trunk wires in the attic. I’ll show you after we serve drinks. You can meet me there,” Joshua pushed, leaning closer. “Can you manage it?”

“I suppose. But if I’m caught, Mrs. Beaton will kill me before that demon Belgadt ever catches me!”

Joshua winked and kissed her on the cheek. “Well then, we’ll dance from the gallows together, Miss Carmichael.”

Maureen might have slapped him, but he was out the door before she could think to raise her hand. Instead, she touched softly the place of his kiss upon her cheek.

It was half past six when the winds of a violent snowstorm howled through the lanes of the estate, whistling and rattling panes of glass as Maureen ladled creamed oyster chowder from the stove pot into china tureens under Mrs. Beaton’s watchful eye. She’d half filled the first, smiled at Mrs. Beaton, innocent as a babe, then looked sharply again, spreading her eyes wide in horror at a point just over the woman’s left shoulder. Her bloodcurdling scream rent the steamy kitchen air. The sturdy woman jumped and turned as Maureen’s ladle flipped high, showering scalding soup over Mrs. Beaton’s arm and hand, then sent the first tureen crashing to the floor.

Mrs. Beaton bellowed in agony. Nancy dropped to the floor in terror, desperately trying to corral the spreading rush of imported oysters with her tea towel. Maureen deftly tipped her small vial into the pot.

“Look what you’ve done, stupid girl!” Mrs. Beaton screamed again, dousing her hand in water. “That tureen’s come from France—part of a matching set! It’s worth more than three years of your wages!”

“I’m ever so sorry,” Maureen cried as mortified as she could be. “I saw a rat run across the shelf—just there.”

“There are no rats in my kitchen!”

“But I saw one, and I’m that terrified of them!”

“Stupid, stupid girl! How you ever made it out of the scullery and above stairs is beyond me.”

Maureen began to sniffle. “I said I’m sorry, and I’m sorry.” Then penitently, she retrieved the ladle from beneath the stove and handed it up. “Perhaps you’d best do the soup, mum. I’ll help Nancy clean up.”

Cook jerked the ladle from Maureen’s hand. “Call Harder to come for the tureen. Shorthanded or not, I’ll not trust either of you simpletons to carry it up the stairs.”

“Yes, mum.” Maureen lowered her head, curtsied, and turned to do as she was bid.

“And when you’ve done that, get out of my kitchen! Don’t come back until the meal’s done, clumsy girl! We’ll save you the pots to scrub!”

“Yes, mum.” Maureen hid her smile until she was out of sight.

“Well, their families will have to manage without them! You should have insisted the live-out staff remain with a storm brewing. We can’t afford to be shorthanded tonight,” Belgadt berated Harder.

“I should have thought ahead, sir.”

Belgadt waved him away in contempt. “Get every maid and groom on duty. I want you and Carmichael in the dining room at all times. Bring up some of those girls with domestic experience and put them in uniforms—the strongest ones not dancing tonight. I want the house to look staffed to the rafters. Now that we’ve skimmed the less than committed, I intend to convince our potential investors we’re wallowing in diamonds.”